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A NOVEL 


BY 


Louis Bond Mnson 

AND 

Norman Elliot 

■ ■ 


Illustrated 


Nile Series. 


CHICAGO 

THE NILE PUBLISHING COMPANY 

Issued monthly. By subscription, $6 per year. Vol. 2., No. 3. April, 189a 
Entered at Chicago postoffice as second-class matter. 


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

®l^p. - ©njujrigi^t n. 

Shelf 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 


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“Miss Shirley laid the letter down, and gazed at herself in the full 
length cheval opposite.’’ (Page lo.) 


A 


SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST 


A NOVEL 


BY 

LOUIS BOND MASON 

AND 

NORMAN’ ELLIOT 
> 






CHICAGO 

THE NILE PUBLISHING COMPANY 


\ 

\ 

\ 




-■t ■ kf? . ■ . ■ , 









Copyright, 1892 

BY 

Louis Bond Mason 


AND 

Norman Elliot 


A SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST 


CHAPTER I 

“My dear Catherine: — You see I am still 
the night-hawk of old. Past one o’clock 
and the band is hushed which is too bad, 
as it is quite superior. Nevertheless, my 
nerves are dancing by themselves delight- 
ful little minuets, which unless I sleep 
will later resolve into a most rioting co- 
tillion. The truth is I am quite worried, 
and feel in one of my old, confidential 
moods. Spatts, my ‘King Charles,’ is 
very ill, and Pomone has been dosing him 
with nasty medicine; such pitiful moans, 
they make me shiver. 

“The Floridean colony is growing rap- 
idly, as each Limited brings more of our 
friends. The Porte-Chesters e7i route for 
Matanzas, arrived last evening. They will, 

7 


8 


A SUI^VIVAL 


however, remain, I think, some time. Joe 
looks smart in his flannels, but acts rather 
lonesome. Big game, eh, my dear? Now 
you must come down at once as I repeat 
my former invitation, and will not accept 
a negative answer. 1 have already engaged 
you for several affairs and to exception- 
ally nice people. I learned to-day of your 
success. How charming! I am glad you 
decided on an ideal head, as I am sure 
that is your forte; then, too, those pictures 
take best this season. Is it true the check 
had three ciphers? I can almost imagine 
upon the wall of what gallery it will be 
seen. 

"My box of Felix gowns was opened this 
morning, and contained some exquisite 
work. You would stretch your eyes could 
you see how tall they make me. One is 
a dress of Faille Francaise, cut high with 
sleeves to the wrists ; fancy, as though I 
were a bride. You may rest assured that 
I had Pomone clipping at once, just low 
enough to show the curve, as I fully real- 
ize that is my chef- cT oeuvre^ don’t you think? 
Yesterday we went fishing; it is the last 


OF THE FITTEST 


9 


time I shall venture, as I looked awful 
when I returned, and my nose burns red. 
I longed madly for Mme. de Swaine and 
the massage ; and then, too, like men, the 
little monsters when they’re landed, splash 
about so much they ruin one ; but I love 
to feel them on the line. 

“Belle Duckworth came last week, and as 
usual alone. What liberty she takes, and 
then it’s whispered, — but there my old 
failing. In heavens’ name, what do the 
men see in her to admire? Mr. Hanover 
Lange is here with his yacht. You remem- 
ber Willie and I spent the shooting sea- 
son at his Highland box last Autumn. 
Sunday he breakfasted us on the boat, and 
we had as exquisite service as I have 
ever met with on water, together with the 
most extraordinary Burgundy. All of us 
were there except Willie who, as usual was 
sick with a cold, the result of a tramp in 
the swamps. When you marry, my dear, 
don’t wed one who is botanically mad. 
But to return to the breakfast, it wasc/iu, 
and Lange’s latest acquisition is a two 
months’ cub of the purest Bengal type. 


lO 


A SURVIVAL 


“I can fancy you in New York with a 
perpetual cold, and in a thoroughly Lenten 
humor. Rid yourself of both by wiring 
me that you will come, and my husband 
shall book your place for Monday’s train. 
I suffer so much with insomnia of late, 
that Pomone suggests hypodermics ; but 
oh, horrors! to think of marring one’s limbs! 
The latter has just brought me my ‘night 
cap,’ and I drink to your artistic success. 
The maid is a treasure and I think the 
most discreet of all Pve had. 

“I take your acquiescence for granted, 
and will only say ati revoir, 

"Your very tired, 

"GERALDINE. 

"Saint Gervaise, the 22d inst. ” 

Miss Shirle}^ laid the letter down, and 
gazed at herself in the full length cheval 
opposite. Therein reflected was a very 
lovely young woman indeed. A mass of 
yellow hair of the kind sometimes, and 
libelously, called tawny; hair that tum- 
bled in mutinous, fluffy ringlets to a point 
half way down the forehead. Arched brows, 
and a Grecian nose, the latter perfect and 


OF THE FITTEST 


II 


perhaps her purest feature. Turquoiseeyes, 
with lids quite wide, and lashes curling 
up, and of a brilliancy that burned, yet left 
no smart. In point of fact, one gazed into 
their depths with a sensation of restful- 
ness, not inadvertently likened to green 
banks and a gently flowing stream. A 
mouth cut just a trifle large, dimpling at 
the corners, and filled with teeth calcu- 
lated to inspire a dental rhapsody. A re- 
solute chin, and neck of strength ; a wil- 
lowy figure superb in its contour, which 
by the way predominates in the American 
girl, but from that fact is none the less 
lovely. Hands rather large, but white 
and charming, and feet both slender, and 
patrician. A cursory glance would con- 
vince one that the girl was resolute and 
weak, gentle and domineering, haughty 
and suppliant. In a word, a creature not 
so much of moods, as chance. Moreover, 
not one to prate heroics in the public 
square, but capable of carrying a secret 
inquisition placidly. A saint should the 
Fates decree, the opposite did the acci- 


A SURVIVAL 


I 2 

dental turning of a card, or corner so ad- 
just. 

"There,” says the mirror, "is Miss Cath- 
erine Shirley, or at least her personal.” 

The facts enumerated above were on this 
occasion unnoticed by the girl, who gazed 
at herself after the manner of absent mind- 
ed individuals who consult their watch at 
intervals, and return it to its place un- 
conscious of the time, or indeed, that they 
have referred to it at all. The froth of 
a society devotee, and the upper crust 
happenings of a winter refuge, passed un- 
heeded ; but that part expressing a wish 
for her presence there held her attention, 
and turned her train of thoughts to a track, 
which for smoothness left much to be de- 
sired. 

In the world in which she held a place, 
the life and rearing of a girl were vested 
usually in a nursery planet, around which 
revolved many maids of complex nation- 
alities; a changing of governesses with 
the regularity of post-horses, and an occa- 
sional exchange of pleasantries with fash- 
ion-loving mamma. Annual outings at 


OF THE FITTEST 


13 


home with one or two in Europe, and 
finally, and before the coming-out a fin- 
ishing school with a translation or so of 
French works, and a graduation in white 
crepe-de-soie and small brilliants. Not so 
Catherine. 

To be brief at the start, it is well to 
state that the father, Gideon Shirley, was 
of eminently well-bred stock. He traced 
his lineage faultlessly to a point touching 
on the episode of Plymouth Rock, and 
beyond to solid English ancestry, and 
sturdy blood. This gave to him through 
succeeding and abstemious generations, 
his six feet of good looks. A stroke of 
fortune following the war placed him in a 
position to win and wed a girl of London 
extraction, and daughter to a broker, whom 
business relations had placed with Shirley 
on a foundation of intimacy. The mar- 
riage was happy, providing it can be called 
bliss to adore a woman during eighteen 
months, losing her then in childbirth, her 
place taken by a far from prepossessing ob- 
ject, such as Catherine at first proved to 
be. 


H 


A SURVIVAL 


Perhaps the child was appealing at the 
onset, or maybe the Saxon blood in Shir- 
ley^s veins rose up ; for at all events he 
pocketed his grief and forthwith wrapped 
around the new-comer an affection, which 
during nineteen years gave to the girl a joy 
and zest in life, which in those to follow, 
from the utter change, afforded her meat 
for no inconsiderable bitterness. They 
lived — father and daugher — within the con- 
fines of old New York. The territorial 
boundary of their friendships was marked 
exclusively by Washington Square, and 
Irving Place. He devoted himself with 
enthusiasm to her education, and had the 
foundation of an exceedingly transparent 
mind to work upon. Withal she denoted 
a strength of intellect, a stamina the moth- 
er had in nowise possessed. His means 
permitted the use of every avenue, and a 
research in the Old World enjoyed by few. 
That Catherine’s views were broad he mis- 
trusted from the start. She had early in 
the bursting of her intellect put to him a 
series of questions theologistic, and ac- 
knowledged, or correctly speaking unac- 


OF THE FITTEST 


15 


knowleged by the mass, at least, as unan- 
swerable. Subsequently he missed an 
original copy of Rousseau^s “Emile" from 
his shelves to find it later in her room. 
Still more strange, and despite a prone- 
ness to work the mind to the exclusion of 
all else, she physically developed well and 
rapidly. 

Shortly before her eighteenth year there 
came a calamity to the Wall Street house 
of Gideon Shirley, that demonstrated the 
infeasibility of dependence on things ma- 
terial. The defalcation of a cashier, an 
outside transaction involving a shortage 
on May wheat, and Shirle}^ returned one 
evening to tell the wide-eyed girl, that he 
was sunk quite beyond his depth. The 
events that follow a financial eruption gen- 
erally divide themselves into three epochs. 
The rush of the creditors, the instant dis- 
appearance, of every article of marketable 
value, and the complete oblivion, for a 
time at least, of those who bear the brunt. 

So far as Shirley was concerned, it short- 
ened his life by twenty years. An element 
his nature lacked was spontaneity. The 


i6 


A SURVIVAL 


boarding house, and pair of narrow rooms 
to which they found recourse, seemed to 
him in the year he survived, scarce a real- 
ity. Catherine who had taken up a desul- 
tory painting, the disposal of which was 
next to an impossibility, acquired an em- 
ployment in contemplating through un- 
seeing eyes the row of dwellings, the rear 
of which lay athwart their own. The rat- 
tle of the elevated trains, and the city’s 
roar seemed but a requiem to the fast 
approaching finish of the father, grown 
prematurely decayed. His days he spent 
drowsing before a fire of coals of dimin- 
utive proportions, and when he was awake 
curiously eyeing in their red glow, what 
he knew to be the approaching spectre ; 
the while snapping his fingers abstracted- 
ly — a way debilitated people have. He 
had reached a period when sleep, with but 
scant courtesy, ushers in oblivion. 

In course of events, it transpired on an 
occasion that Catherine wended her way to 
the house of a friend of former days. On 
her return the shadows had crept in, and 
the room struck her with a gruesome chill. 


OF THE FITTEST 


17 


'' Qu* avez-vous?" she said to the figure be- 
fore the grate, and bent and kissed a face 
ice cold. 

One less keen of sense than she, would 
have known that Gideon Shirley’s flame 
had ceased. Early in the day she had 
pressed him to bestir himself, and court 
the open air. His reply had been wan- 
dering and in a vague way, she had of late 
discerned; with references to a journey to 
the other world, and as always the case, 
concern for her changed position. And 
now in the night, as she stood there brush- 
ing elbows with the shadows of death, 
there collapsed within her some beauty of 
the woman, and all romance of the girL 
Stooping to the man she closed his eyes, 
and rang for assistance. 

Subsequent events impressed her not by 
reason of her grief, but more so by the ques- 
tion of “What next?” She wept with eyes 
undimmed, her sorrow being of the kind 
that leaves its effacement to the impossible. 
At this stage there came, or rather returned 
into her life, piece of frivolity in the 
shape of Geraldine Vanderslyce, who had 


A SURVIVAL 


i8 

acquired the latter name since their art 
school acquaintance, and through marriage 
with an orphaned and rich New Yorker. 
In this manner she had transported herself 
from western obscurity to the metropoli- 
tan set, commonly dubbed, "smart." Be- 
tween Catherine and Mrs. Vanderslyce 
there existed an affinity noticeable in na- 
tures strictly dissimilar, and to this well- 
meaning little woman in the main, Cath- 
erine partially owed existence, and a rea- 
son perhaps, why a jumping from the dock 
was not resorted to. 

People thrown on their own resources 
find then the cleverness they would wish to 
court, the most reluctant. During three 
succeeding years the girl learned this well 
by rote, and to the point where at last by 
chance, the disposal of a picture had turned 
the wheel her way for considerably over a 
thousand. The generally suspected theory 
of its purchase by young Porte-Chester, 
who despite the intervention of his mother 
openly admired the girl, had as yet failed 
to reach Miss Shirley’s ears. Therefore, 
on this night in question, and before her 


OF THE FITTEST 


19 

glass, Catherine turned the invitation 
over in her mind and in a light that two 
weeks previous would have seemed to her 
impracticable. The crowning fault that 
follows in success’s trail, is lassitude. 

For those whose possessions are few, a 
change of base requires neither time nor 
forethought, and in this wise Miss Shirley, 
whom the allurements of Saint Gervaise 
had not tempted long in vain, found her- 
self on the day suggested by her corres- 
pondent on the train de luxcy bound for 
the Southern Peninsula. Some one has 
suggested, that the presence south during 
the season, of an individual possessed of 
more than one lung, is a sight of decided 
rarity. Be that as it may, it struck Miss 
Shirley that with the exception of a few 
laggards in the social influx, the train was 
made up of passengers retaining no attri- 
butes possible to lose and still exist. The 
night was nauseous and the day still more 
so; for to one in health, a contact with 
the dying must needs carry in its wake, 
thoughts incident to one’s own eventual 
shuffling-off. So that, and despite the 


20 


A SURVIVAL 


conveniences afforded by her state-room, 
she welcomed on the second evening the 
journey’s end, and her installation at one 
of a trio of gorgeous hostleries. 

She supped in her apartment, and then 
penciled a line to Mrs. Vanderslyce. This 
was answered shortly by the maid Pomone, 
who brought with her an odor of absinthe 
and of cigarettes. 

"Madame,” she said, "eez quite unwell, 
and says for me to say with love, she vill 
see you in ze morning. " With which she 
took herself away, quite noiselessly — Pa- 
risian to the core. 


CHAPTER II 


“Yes, it is quite true, I have noticed it 
often, and I think that Monroe is espec- 
ially in vogue with all bridal couples,” said 
Mrs. Porte-Chester as she put down her 
chocolate cup. “As for myself, I think 
it very amusing to watch them, but Joe 
yawns, and says it is a joke at zero-point.” 

“Nearer the torrid zone,” suggested little 
Mrs. Duckworth, and she laughed a trifle 
coarsely. 

“By Gad I” exclaimed Vanderslyce, and 
then in silence the three members turned 
to their iced oranges. 

They were breakfasting at the Porte- 
Chester’ s table, alcoved at an end of the 
main dining-room. Vanderslyce had taken 
advantage of his wife’s indisposition to 
breakfast with his friends, and Mrs. Duck- 
worth had come without an urgent invita- 
tion. The table had been laid for four in- 


21 


22 


A SURVIVAL 


stead of the customary two, mother and 
son, as the Porte-Chesters were known to 
their colony, or more properly subjects. 
Mrs. Porte-Chester glanced often toward 
the doorway, as if expecting some comer, 
and then noticing Mrs. Duckworth’s ques- 
tioning gaze, would turn her eyes to her 
plate. The world called her handsome, 
and in this instance was not supposed to 
be prejudiced in so favorable an opinion 
by the woman’s unusual wealth, or high 
social position; for even her worst oppo- 
nent was forced to admit her patrician 
face, and noble bearing. It is true that 
her gray, almost white hair, added largely 
to her beauty, and made a fresh physiog- 
nomy look prematurely thoughtful. She 
was a young-appearing woman to be the 
mother of a son who had just passed the 
middle of his twenties, to say nothing of 
the fact that her life, as a social leader, 
was arduous, and by no means conducive 
to regular hours or habits. Whether it 
was the black curved brows, the promi- 
nent dark eyes, or the straight, well-lined 
nose supporting her glasses rimmed in gold, 


OF THE FITTEST 


23 


which gave to her visage that penetrating 
glance that it was wont to assume, is a 
point ; but certain it is, that she never 
failed to crush an enemy, or silence a friend, 
when she was so disposed. Mrs. Duck- 
worth said, and further said publicly, that 
it was the mouth, and maybe for that rea- 
son she was less often numbered among the 
former’s guests. Possibly she in turn 
had heard the caustic remark which had 
fallen from Mrs. Porte-Chester, when she 
once referred to her, as “That little thing 
shivering in that big position. ’’ That, how- 
ever, was 5^ears ago when Belle Duckworth 
had reigned as a social queen in the ‘first 
period of her rather eccentric marriage 
contract. Perhaps it was the oddness of 
it all, that now struck Mrs. Porte-Chester; 
for a smile passed her mouth, and she looked 
as though she would speak ; then her lips 
parted and she showed a brilliant row of 
teeth, with now and then a speck of gilt. 

'T have been enjo3dng a comedy for the 
last moment; stage settings, and all,” she 
said, in partial explanation of a mirth the 


24 


A SURVIVAL 


younger woman had been endeavoring to 
translate. 

“Those westerners across the way, I pre- 
sume,’’ and Mrs. Duckworth echoed the 
fun with a small gurgling noise that re- 
minded one of a school girl. 

“Yes, indeed, isn^t it amusing. Blue, 
blue and blue.’’ 

Mrs. Porte-Chester adjusted her glasses. 

“Dress, fan, handkerchief, rings, ear- 
rings, and pins all of a light azure ; a thing 
of country simplicity. Diamonds, too, and 
in daylight !” she exclaimed. 

“Why, is not turquoise in vogue?” ven- 
tured Vanderslyce. 

The women glanced at one another, and 
smiled. Certainly he was refreshing, they 
thought, for a man who had known New 
York from infancy. It is with no small 
sense of difficult}^ that the summing up 
and character of men like William Seagrave 
Vanderslyce, are formulated. Both injus- 
tice, and want of taste would be displayed 
in ticketing him a nonentity. The praise- 
worthy qualities of a man whose utter 
guilelessness was open as a book, and who, 


OF THE FITTEST 


25 


though living in a mud-besmirching at- 
mosphere, kept clean, cannot be over-es- 
timated. But what will you? For to 
average humanity there is a tendency to 
sicken of this, and occasionally crave the 
cloven foot. His family history needs 
small space. Eminently respectable at 
the start, it had always remained so. Years 
before his father had been ground to a very 
fine pulp in a Canadian railway accident. 
His will was simple. “All to my wife,” 
it said, and after the fatality of things, 
his wife a few years later, was killed in 
her Victoria by a coltish team. Her be- 
queath also was concise, and “All to my 
son,” was its import. Consequently the 
Vanderslyce with whom we have to deal 
was very wealthy. 

At the breakfast table Mrs. Duckworth 
thought it clever to continue the low-toned 
talk on their neighbors. 

“All but the eyes, ’’she was saying. “Yes, 
the eyes are positively a cold steel green.. 
Ugh,how horrid !” And she turned to meet 
the full gaze of Mrs. Porte-Chester. “Dear 
me,” she thought, “had I but the means to 


26 


A SURVIVAL 


permit of that stare. ” While the elder 
woman said to herself, "I am quite per- 
fectly certain, she lays the foundation with 
Recam ier. " 

“I say you shouldn’t be so severe on 
westerners, you know. Jerry is from those 
parts, and I’m sure no such criticism could 
be passed upon her.” And Vanderslyce’s 
voice denoted irritation. 

"Yes, my dear Willie,” answered Mrs. 
Duckworth. "But Geraldine is from the 
Pacific slope, while these persons have an 
air of Kansas.” 

“Oh it is you,” said Mrs. Porte-Chester 
as her son took his place, and stretching 
out her hand she slightly pressed his own. 

Owing to a century of Dutch industry, 
Joseph Porte-Chester was, as Mrs. Van- 
derslyce bad aptly put it, the biggest game 
in the jungle. He had had an ancestor 
reputed to be the only trader who had 
never taken advantage of Indian simplicity, 
and that vein of sincerity had descended 
to this last of the Porte-Chesters, and of 
qualities admirable, was the best he re- 
tained. He had little claim to looks. Na- 


OF THE FITTEST 


27 


ture had endowed him with a certain lean- 
ness, which neither change of diet nor of 
clime, seemed able to eradicate. Yet, 
though light of build he was by no means 
unseemly. His eyes were clear, and his 
skin browned, and hardened. With men 
he filled that term — well-liked, with women 
the matter to him was a quandary. For 
he found his coming alwa5^s produced so 
many smiles, in such profusion, that with 
shrewdness which was laudable, he reckoned 
of his wealth, and questioiled their design. 
When he walked it was with head lowered 
and forward, giving one the impression 
somehow, that he was considerably in ad- 
vance of himself. His future course his 
mother had well marked, and in it figured 
prominently a girl who had all London by 
the ears. In this, she told herself, she 
would brook no interference, and to all in- 
tents and purposes she seldom did. She 
saw well the advantages of a foreign 
branch, a case in point being that of her 
breakfast vis-a-vis. For the unpublished 
record of Belle Duckworth, clearly showed 
that with her shocking morals, her English 


28 


A SURVIVAL 


kith and kin alone saved her utter isola- 
tion. 

"Quite a mail, good .people;” remarked 
Porte-Chester, giving half a dozen letters 
to his mother, and two to Mrs. Duckworth. 

The latter woman eyed her mail, and 
from force of habit had to lie. "Ah, ” she 
said. "From Mr. D., who is still in town. ” 
Over her shoulder could have been seen 
the heading "Country Club, "the opening 
"Darling,” and the signature not that of 
Duckworth. Fbr the other she volunteered 
it as a missive from her sister. Lady Dare, 
which in reality represented a flatly worded 
dun from her Bond Street milliner. 

"I dislike to have you so long without 
breakfasting,” said Mrs. Porte-Chester as 
she broke the top-most seal. 

"Yes, by Gad ! I should think you must 
be famished, I know it is that way when 
I go off on one of my tramps,” said Willie. 

"Now please don’t inflict us with a tale 
of orchid hunting,” broke in the Duck- 
worth, her mind still on her letters. 

Thereat the waiter changed the course. 

Behind her journal Mrs. Porte-Chester 


OF THE FITTEST 


29 


read aloud: ‘“The Surgeons sail to-mor- 
row by the Lahn. Mrs. Archibal Storm is 
to take the old Lord Northinghame house 
for the season, and it is said will entertain 
as lavishly as any of her predecessors.’ 
That means her husband has made another 
lucky speculation.” 

‘‘More likely that Northinghame is be- 
coming generous in his old age, ‘‘interrupt- 
ed her son. 

Mrs. Duckworth smiled discretely, and 
Vanderslyce looking puzzled, resumed his 
roll which lay half-buttered on his plate. 

‘‘By Jove, money is tightening!” ex- 
claimed Joe looking up from his paper. 
‘‘Vandeens is said to have dropped half a 
million on yesterday’s market, and the 
Thurlows are unloading Alton stock. A 
rush on the Market Street Bank, and the 
officials say they will have to suspend pay- 
ment. More excitement was seen in Wall 
Street and the Exchange yesterday than 
has been known for years. Chicago gas 
stock is on the tumble.” 

‘‘Would you advise me to sell mine?” 
asked Vanderslyce, his face blanching, 


30 


A SURVIVAL 


“No danger of a panic, I hope,” said 
Mrs. Porte-Chester. 

“Hush!” and Joe put out his hand im- 
patiently. “The Fidelity has gone to 
pieces and it is claimed, will carry down 
many wealthy members.” 

“Oh, how horrible!” And Mrs. Duck- 
worth clasped her hands. “What makes 
them do such dreadful things? I never 
could understand politics, anyway.” 

In her social strata, Mrs. Duckworth 
was accredited with more asinine sayings, 
than fall to the lot of a score of well-re- 
puted fools. Coupled with this, she was an 
individual who laughed on but slight 
pretext, and with slighter notice. 

“I say, Joey,” continued his mother, 
“your restiveness will vanish now, and I 
think you will agree with me that our real 
estate traditions are better after all. Close 
that window, please,’’ and she turned to 
their attendant. 

“By the by, ” broke in Vanderslyce ; “my 
wife’s friend. Miss Shirley, came last night. ” 

To us all the unexpected mention of 
some name, adds a quickening to the pulse; 


OF THE FITTEST 


31 


so with Porte-Chester whose face changed 
visibly. His mother noting it, bit the rim 
of her glass, her forehead wrinkling. 

“She is such a dear,” said Mrs. Duck- 
worth, “that no place seems complete with- 
out her presence. Some one said last win- 
ter, that Miss Shirley was at home wher- 
ever she was placed, whether in the surf 
or out of it. She is a girl who makes few 
enemies. ” 

“Yes, ’’snapped Mrs. Porte-Chester; “the 
imperfect mathematics of the father de- 
I^ived her of that privilege.” 

I haven’t seen her myself to congratu- 
late her upon her picture. Jerry says it 
is well put in, though for myself I thought 
it rather dauby when I saw it some time 
since ; although, although — ” Vander- 
slyce having made an assertion, as in most 
cases, figuratively took to his heels and 
ran, and he ended his sentence with a fal- 
tering indecision. 

“Rather insipid,! thought.” Mrs. Porte- 
Chester’s face wore its coldest expres- 
sion. “In truth, romantic faces always 


32 


A SURVIVAL 


bore one upon a second glance.” And 
with a jewelled hand she stifled a yawn. 

“You never were an art critic mother,” 
and her son forced a laugh. 

“As for myself,” said Mrs. Duckworth 
straightening up, “I think it uncommonly 
good. I am sure it would compare favor- 
ably with one of Landseer’s heads.” She 
finished an egg and did not notice a smile 
which passed the rounds. She had em- 
braced the opportunity; it was much 
better she argued, to take sides with the 
younger generation, for no telling when 
the Lord would call the mother, and she 
had her own idea as to whom the son pre- 
ferred. 

Mrs. Porte-Chester having dryed her 
fingers rose. In her eyes there was the 
coming of a storm centre. 

Up in her apartments Mrs. Vanderslyce 
was rubbing her eyes, and regretting the 
occurrences of the past two days. 

“I do wish you would quiet that dog. 
SpattSjlie down! Now hand me the mir- 
ror ; no, first get me a drink, and stay, a 
light cordisil — Benedictine, I think. Oh 


OF THE FITTEST 


33 


dear, how my head throbs and my eyes feel 
heavy and dull. Pomone! Pomone!” she 
called. “Do hurry up. Heavens, do you 
think I can wait all day? I tell you I am 
nearly choked. There, that is better. 
Now do prop my head, so, that will do. 
I swear; I will never indulge myself again. 
I will soon be as bad as father was. Oh 
my! What a life, and to think if anyone 
should find it out. And here I am,” half 
to herself, “entirely in the hands of a maid. ” 

“ Oui^ madame. But ze maid of maids. ” 
And the young Frenchwoman laughed 
good-naturedly. 

“Yes, so you are, Pomone; you are a 
jewel. Come here and kiss me,” replied 
her mistress, impulsively. “I don’t under- 
stand your knack for quenching my thirst. 
Your liquids are, I think, superior to May- 
ard’s.” 

“It eez too bad ze husband does not 
like ze vine too. 

“He is a fool; yes, Pomone a fool! I 
often wonder why I married him. Now 
bring me a cigarette. Hush! Just draw 
the curtains more closely. I am so fearful 

3 


34 


A SURVIVAL 


of some one seeing me, and how they do 
gossip about here, especially that Duck- 
worth cat. ” 

The hereditary taints of a man whose 
condition on the average was nine parts 
alcohol, represented the legacy bequeathed 
Geraldine Vanderslyce on the death of her 
parent. After the usual fitness of such an 
issue, traits of the father, though hot ac- 
centuated in the daughter, were at all events 
developed to a stage of quarterly sprees of 
more or less maudlin description. The 
woman had honestly tried to curb her vices, 
but engendered within were forces of un- 
equal strength, together with pleasure lov- 
ing propensities, for which probably, the 
other side of the family tree was respons- 
ible. Not but that her endearing qualities 
were many. Your professional imbiber 
goes mainly by the rule of being happy, 
and hoping for every one a likewise state 
of mind. The maid Pomone, a native of 
the south of France, and homeless from 
an early indiscretion, was clearly in the 
blame. With her, no doubt, it was a want 
of thought. For after all it was funny to 


OF THE FITTEST 


35 


concoct delicacies in mixed drinks for 
Madame, with now and then a sip for one^s 
ownself. It chased away the blues and 
made life very sweet indeed, besides it 
was exceedingly amusing, she thought, to 
see her mistress in an alternate state of 
weeping and hysterics. 

With no small amount of cunning, Ger- 
aldine would at times discretely mention 
her need of stimulants, and in this way 
disarm suspicion of even one so intimate 
as Catherine. With Mr. Vanderslyce the 
tale was all blank, save that he knew his 
wife preferred Saint Julian with the entries^ 
Perrier Jouet with dinner, and after des- 
sert, creme-de-Menthe-frappe. Owing to Ger- 
aldine’s inability to conquer Gallic verbs, 
the maid was forced to talk a bastard 
tongue, she told herself was English. “I 
suppose I must rise for dinner, ” said Geral- 
dine at length. "Only I wish my head 
would stop throbbing. Hand me the mir- 
ror. Horrors, how I look! They used to 
say I was pretty, but this morning I am a 
sight, a perfect sight!” 

The dog began barking and interrupted 


36 


A SURVIVAL 


her monologue ; then a knock at the door 
sent her into a tremble, as she listened for 
the voice. It was Miss Shirley, and the 
maid had her enter. The women kissed, 
and then Catherine sat by her friend’s side 
and noted her face. The somewhat glassy 
eyes avoided her gaze, and a soft flush 
covered the cheeks, which were of rather 
light complexion for one having such dark 
eyes and hair. The face was sweet and 
denoted a weak, affectionate nature. Cath- 
erine’s heart was warm with love, for had 
this woman not befriended her, when friends 
were like mid-winter blossoms, and as 
rare? 

Mrs. Vanderslyce broke into a fit of 
coughing, then she started to rise. 'T 
must sit up,” she said. “It is impossible 
to breathe in this position,” and she put 
her feet to the floor. 

Leaning on her friend’s offered arm the 
two walked to a steamer-chair, which was 
well covered with rugs of fur. Mrs. Vander- 
slyce half reclined, and seemed exhausted, 
endeavoring the while to subdue the shak- 
ing of her hands. She was clad in a soft, 


OF THE FITTEST 


37 


white night-robe which fell so loosely about 
her, as to show the perfect lines of her 
figure, which was plumply artistic. She 
was not a Cleopatra either in face or form, 
but there was about her a transient attrac- 
tion to hold a man a fortnight, and then 
to lose him forever. In ten years she 
would be obese ; just now she was entic- 
ing, and her straight black hair threw out 
her creamy neck and breast. 

Miss Shirley watched her for a moment, 
and then picked up the empty cigarette 
box. "Turkish,” she sniffed, and laid it 
down. 

"Yes,” answered Geraldine, "they are 
the only thing that seem to relieve my 
headache. I do hope, dear, that you will 
never contract such a habit, as it is really 
dreadful I know, and I’m in mortal fear 
of my husband’s detecting it. But I am 
almost converted to your agnostic theories, 
when suffering from one of these attacks. 
I presume its all from over-dancing.” 

' Later the conversation lagged. Miss Shir- 
ley was tired and disliked Turkish tobacco ; 
the dog was noisy and cross, and Pomone 


38 


A SURVIVAL 


was so unfortunate as to spill a pint of 
cologne. The visitor wearied of hearing 
about Mrs. Duckworth’s latest escapade, 
and to what extent it had been carried. 
Indeed, Mrs. Duckworth to her taste was 
an unknown quantity, and from the de- 
scription she had heard of Hanover Lange, 
whom she was informed was away for 
several days on his yacht, she thought it 
mattered little if they never met. Kissing 
her friend once more, she left, while Ger- 
aldine started for her bath, trailing her 
clothes after her, and adding, if possible, 
more confusion to the room. 

When the afternoon grew old, Cather- 
ine leaned her head against her window- 
sill. Below the grounds were full of fire, 
and the sun^s departing rays sent shafts 
of light to every nook, and corner of the 
Oriental structure. To one side the view 
was unobstructed, and the scenery stretched 
away to be in the end lost in haze. The 
band was playing Mendelssohn’s“Spring 
Song, ’’and the air struck an answering cord 
in the girl’s heart. Ah, yes, life was very 
sweet indeed with circumstances such as 


OF THE FITTEST 


39 


these, the breeze saturated with sweet 
odors, and with warmth. She made a 
mental picture of New York’s appearance 
on this February day, and then contrasted 
her surroundings. 

Just then the sun went down, leaving in 
its wake an aftermath of color diversified 
in hue. A last beam struck the girl’s fair 
hair, and lingered, as though within its 
wealth there was an ecstacy, as well as 
power to lure. 


CHAPTER III 


Catherine very soon found that she had 
a suitor in every sense of the word. It 
did not take Porte-Chester long to show 
his preference, and this fact was not un- 
noticed by the two score of eligible 
girls the hotel then contained. Miss 
Shirley was walked and ridden, danced, 
driven and sailed, and in fact was 
haunted, as assiduously as ever young 
woman could wish, and that, too, by a Croe- 
sus not ill-looking. To do the girl jus- 
tice it may be truthfully said, that the fact 
was none of her seeking. The coldly 
threatening eye of the mother did not in 
the least escape her, but it affected her no 
more than though Mme. Porte-Chester 
was in Hindostan. For a person of stinted 
means, she possessed an independence 
worthy of a bank account of millions. 
Further, she was heart-whole and possessed 

40 


OF THE FITTEST 


41 


of self-confidence, which went far toward 
looking at the future through unpessi- 
mistic eyes, or at immediate matrimony, 
as necessary to her welfare. It is a 
question if such women ever really are 
enamored, or at least if so, but once. 
She was as yet a stranger to the slightest 
heart emotion, and her life had been de- 
void of any so called, “girl and boy," 
affair. She did not live in romance or 
anticipate a knight in coat-of-mail, but 
if she thought of it at all, it was in hope 
that some day a nature thoroughly in touch 
with hers might chance her way. 

Joseph Porte-Chester at the start was 
handicapped. Being nothing but himself, 
he lacked everything in charming Cather- 
ine, and as their acquaintance ripened, 
she saw in him the finish before the start 
had quite begun. Born, however, in the 
heart of every pretty girl is the knowledge 
of her power, and should she opine of the 
plans she can unmake. Perhaps Catherine 
surmised th6 why and wherefore of Mrs. 
Porte-ChestePs displeasure, and a little 
selfishly with small reckoning that the cost 


42 


A SURVIVAL 


would be on Joe, determined that the ma- 
ternal repose should be a trifle broken. 
She liked him very well, but the fault was 
in the first place, that — perhaps unknown 
to herself — she desired to be ruled, and of 
this Joe was incapable, especially with her. 

In any event Porte-Chester on this par- 
ticular and lovely morning, when he sought 
and found the girl ensconced at an angle 
of the courtyard veranda, thought with 
pleasure that he caught an animated glance 
in the upturned eyes. She was engaged 
with a book handsomely bound in boards, 
and bearing an elaborate vignette. A re- 
cent novel of great popularity, which she 
closed with a snap on his appearance. 

“See,” she said, and smiled, “I am quite 
as bad as the rest ; industriously perus- 
ing a work in which I have not the faint- 
est interest. Reading, as I would with 
altering fashions change my clothes in 
cut, and inwardly decrying the individual 
who thought it clever enough to stamp it 
a success.” 

"And yet,” he replied, “your personal 
opinion, be it good, bad, or indifferent, 


OF THE FITTEST 


43 


matters little to the author. What he de- 
sires most is that you will at all the routs, 
advance a casual acknowledgment to hav- 
ing given your attention to his effort, and 
particularly that you say it when you have 
a good-sized audience.’’ 

"Oh yes,’’ she laughed, "it is all very 
true and all very bearable, even the read- 
ing, were it not that authors of this coun- 
try, and the present time, have given to 
their characters an anti-Yankeeism, if I 
may use the phrase, that has passed from 
the bounds of probability to that of utter 
idiocy. ’’ 

He loved to hear her talk, and though 
he was at times a little slow in following 
what she said, the sound of her voice, with 
its animated setting, made him feel a lit- 
tle less the sameness of existence. Her 
Melton coat, the collar turned about her 
ears, gave to her complexion the purity of 
a child a half year old. Her treatment of 
him, too, was somewhat odd and altogether 
charming. It seemed to him she was one 
moment reserved and petulant; the next 
adorably dependent. She made him feel 


44 


A SUJRVIVAL 


at times his presence was forgotten, and 
then again, that were he absent she would 
want for a protector. In this way he oc- 
cupied the alternate position of her hero 
and her canine. The man much sought 
after longs at length for what might be 
termed a little social bull-doze. 

Presently there sauntered up a flower 
vender.of decided dusky hue. His face was 
very nearly square, and as black as tar, while 
the mouth turned up at the corners and 
ceased an inch from the ears. The teeth, 
superb, showed acquaintance with naught 
but solid food. About the man there was 
an air of infantile humility, that went far 
toward increasing the disposal of his wares. 
At Porte-Chester’s instigation Miss Shir- 
ley leaned forward and made her selec- 
tion from an indiscriminate, but not un- 
lovely mass. Asked by Joe the price, 
the negro laconically said, “Two bits,” and 
being paid, he forthwith went his way. 
Catherine watched the hulking form. 

“The negro of the South, ” she said, “has 
nothing, knows nothing, and hopes noth- 
ing. Hence he’s wholly admirable. Trans- 


OF THE FITTEST 


45 


plant him to the North, and whether 
prosperous and educated, or the contrary, 
he will in the main be sure to lose his 
head. Something more annoying is diffi- 
cult to find, than contact with one gifted 
with a certain flow of crude eloquence, 
which he seeks to exhibit publicly on all 
occasions, and on matters, the understand- 
ing of which he has not." 

"If you say that openly, the South is 
yours. But come, I want to show you a 
sea view that is, I think, superb.” 

Leisurely down the well paved street 
they strolled. The town proper gives 
one the impression of a well groomed 
horse with varnished hoofs, and tail, and 
mane intact. 

"I knew this place," the man continued, 
"when it was a perfect eye-sore. Father 
and myself would stop on our way to the 
tarpoon-grounds, and a quicker change 
has never been accomplished. A good 
example, I presume, of what is called the 
'mighty dollar, ’ a term by which our friend 
Mrs. Duckworth for instance, regulates 
her smiles, and in due proportion to the 


46 • A SURVIVAL 

reputed possessions of those so favored." 

Something unpleasant was passing 
through Miss Shirley^s mind. Her fore- 
head wore a little frown, and she bit her 
lip. He felt he would give willingly a 
good round sum to know her precise 
financial standing. He had quite con- 
vinced himself that he would have her, 
but he well knew that did he gain his 
point, the allurements of his position, after 
the manner of the times, would figure 
largely. Conceit was not an accomplish- 
ment of Joe Porte-Chester. 

"Tell me," she said at length; "have 
you no one to whom you could turn in 
case of disaster, realizing that their aid 
would come solely from affection? No one 
in whom you would place a confidence that 
would stand the strain of any ordeal, and 
who, to insure your betterment, would 
deviate from their accustomed path and 
make a sacrifice for you, or rather undergo 
a little difficulty? Doing it with a motive 
vested in yourself? In a word, have you 
no friends who value you for your worth’s 
sake alone?" 








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“ ‘I think it is the I'^endome, Lange’s affair,’ Joe said, pointing with 
his stick.” 


OF THE FITTEST 


47 


“Such as yet," he answered, somewhat 
tersely, “have failed to cross my path.” 

On the parapet she drew an imaginary 
design with the tip of her patent leather 
boot. Below, the waters of the bay shim- 
mered in the sunlight, while in the open a 
yacht, the funnels belching smoke, was 
steaming shoreward. 

“I think it is the VendomCy Lange’s 
affair," Joe said, pointing with his stick. 

“You know him?" she rejoined, ab- 
stractedly. 

“But slightly. Some one put him up at 
the club, and we met one night at dinner. 
Would you like to have a yacht?" 

She hummed a little air, not having 
seemed to hear him. 

He thought, “I’ll chance it all, and now. 
Catherine,” he said, and then, as in such 
cases, lost his power of speech. 

She pulled herself togther, feeling that 
the ground was getting volcanic. “Oh, 
how warm it is!” Her fluffy bangs pro- 
truded slightly, ‘and some wayward hair, 
curled temptingly about her ears. 

“Come, Mr. Porte-Chester, " she said at 


48 


A SURVIVAL 


last, a trifle archly, “this spot is too roman- 
tic ; suppose we return. “ 

The bright sunshine left but few of the 
hotel guests that were able to be about, 
indoors, and even Mrs. Vanderslyce ven- 
turned out some hours before her accus- 
tomed time. She walked down the veran- 
da, carrying a parasol and gloves in one 
hand, while with the other she occasion- 
ally lifted her skirts, picking her way among 
the numerous groups of toys and children, 
and in so doing, discretely showed some 
silken hose encased in low suide shoes. 
Twice she stopped in her way and looked 
about the grounds, and then further to 
the street. That she was disappointed 
could be plainly seen ; yet it was only de- 
picted by a quick, passing glance that 
vanished, leaving her habitual expression 
of amiable good nature; and then she con- 
tinued her course to the further end of 
the covered passage. She turned the cor- 
ner so abruptly, that she narrowly averted 
a collision with an old lady, who was tak- 
ing her airing in an invalid’s chair. Ger- 
aldine was brought awkwardly to a stand- 


OF THE FITTEST 


49 


still, and her face flushed with annoyance. 
“Surely she might be good enough to re- 
legate herself to a hospital,” she thought, 
glaring at the ancient dame, and she turned 
aside to give the chair a passage. The 
sight was unpleasant, and for a moment 
gave her a twinge of conscience, as she 
thought of some instance in her own life. 
Her musings did not brighten, for at the 
next turn she came to a nook, where sat 
Mrs. Duckworth with her lorgnette to her 
eyes, silently watching the passers. A 
smile broke on the countenance of each 
woman, and each tried to out-gush the 
other. Geraldine seated herself, and laz- 
ily toyed with her gloves. 

“Such a noise, ” began Mrs. Duckworth, 
drumming an air with her glass. “I do 
wish that children could grow up all at 
once, or at least, be kept in the country 
until they could have reached maturer 
years; for if people must have them, it 
seems to me they might have considera- 
tion enough for the rest of the world, to 
keep them under cover." 

Some little imps not far away were mak- 


50 


A SURVIVAL 


ing matters hideous with their racket, and 
Mrs. Duckworth blinked and stopped her 
ears, as women never having had a child, 
will do. A maid just then came hurrying 
up, and with an Allez-vous-en!" got the 
riot out of hearing. The change was quite 
perceptible. 

Mrs. Duckworth crossed her feet. “Dear, 
dear, how very startling!" put forth that 
worldly-wise philosopher. “Did you ever 
notice that where great noise has been, a 
sudden stillness in its way, is quite as deaf- 
ening?" 

“Yes, my dear, no doubt you’re right," 
answered Mrs. Vanderslyce, her mind on 
other topics 

Some moments later they were joined 
by Miss Shirley, Porte-Chester, and his 
mother. The latter having met the couple, 
and being a thorough diplomat, had 
attached herself to them. Too shrewd to 
show her spleen, her conduct to the girl 
was almost friendly. Mrs. Duckworth had 
amused them all at first, by telling of sev- 
eral happenings and bits of gossip, which 
she had unearthed that morning, and from 


OF THE FITTEST 


51 


that the conversation turned to church 
matters. Mrs. Porte-Chester was inclined 
to the highest form within the tenets of 
the Episcopalian faith, and a strict disci- 
ple of ritualistic rules. Lent, she consid- 
ered, should be rigidly observed, but she 
herself avoided the letter of the law by 
customary outings; the Bermudas, the 
South, and Europe giving access. 

“Sally Gifford,” she finally said, “writes 
me by last Thursday’s post, that since the 
season closed. New York has not had any 
thing more wicked than the five o’clock 
conventions. ” 

Miss Shirley smiled. “Lent is a very 
useful institution ; it permits those who 
entertain on incomes insufficient to recu- 
perate their forces.” 

The other woman kept her disapproval 
to herself. A devout young woman indeed! 
What would the Reverend Dr. Bell say 
of such assertions, and the Gifford clique? 
though it hit that family neatly. 

“For those who like that sort of a thing, 
it is the sort of a thing they will like,” 
said Mrs. Duckworth. “Though,” hur- 


52 


A SURVIVAL 


riedly, “I am very high church myself.” 

"The subject might be more exhilirat- 
ing,” said Porte-Chester, and a moment 
later he broke into a laugh. “Pardon! 
pardon!” he said between gasps, “but the 
joke is so good, that I actually have to 
tell you all. Really, Mrs. Duckworth, your 
histrionic talents were well aired this morn- 
ing, if it was your voice that reached me 
through the wall,” and again he laughed. 

“How horrid!” said Mrs. Duckworth in 
arch disgust. “I had forgotten that your 
apartments were next to mine. Why 
don’t they have padded partitions?” 

“I was left in wonderment for over an 
hour,” continued Joe, “and then I met your 
woman in the hallway, and she gave me 
an explanation. Yes,” and he looked at 
his companion, his eyes twinkling, “I even 
had a peep at the collection, which are 
doing finely,” and he laughed again. 

“That imbecile, what shall I do with 
her? I can almost imagine her showing 
my gowns!” 

“If she was well tipped,” suggested Mrs. 
Vanderslyce. 


OF THE FITTEST 


53 


Mrs. Duckworth told herself, that per- 
haps it would be quite a go, and would 
bring her name once more before her 
friends, if not before the social world. 
She had found it quite fetching to have a 
hobby, and although she naturally had no 
passion for such things, she managed by 
altering tactics at every change of base, 
to keep a whim of some sort going. Since 
her visit to the South she had taken to the 
lizard kingdom. She was too nervous a 
woman to endure the animals, so she com- 
promised by collecting well-preserved 
skins and eggs. She thought it eccen- 
tric, if not unique, and occasionally in- 
vited her feminine friends to view the 
spoils, which were looked at between 
affected shrieks and shudders. So now 
she blushed pantomimically, and went on 
to tell of her adventure. 

Her latest acquisition was a large as- 
sortment of alligator eggs that she had 
purchased from some negroes, when re- 
turning from the St. John’s, river, the week 
before. She had placed them in the space 
above the fire-place, and had planned well 


54 


A SURVIVAL 


the sensation they would cause, in which 
her calculations proved correct, though in 
a far different way than she had antici- 
pated. Upon the morning mentioned, the 
maid, fearing dampness, had built a fire 
early, and it was some time later that 
Mrs. Duckworth was awakened by a suc- 
cession of cracks and odd noises. Upon 
sitting up she found the room alive with 
wriggling objects. Her first thought was 
to faint, but then the horrid things were 
creeping nearer, and she ended by giving 
way to quick, short screams which in a 
moment brought the maid. It took two 
men to finally eject the mass. 

The part she did not tell was, that in 
fleeing from her room, no less than half 
a dozen people had seen her, minus her 
complexion. Belle Duckworth’s age was 
puzzling to her friends. In twenty Janu- 
ary firsts, her looks had not changed in 
the least, and the fleeting years had found 
her a subject hard to get past thirty. The 
trifling fibs which this necessitated cost 
her very little peace of mind. She held 
that in dissembling, one might as well ere- 


OF THE FITTEST 


55 


ate one’s self a potentate, as an apprentice 
to a butcher. She was a woman, whose 
appearance was combined within the one 
word — debonnaire \ and though at times 
her tongue was loosened from its check, 
she never could be anything but charming. 
The play of every feature, every action, 
was molded to a point where it was fas- 
cinating, yet did not suggest an affecta- 
tion. Of this variety the sex are scantity 
supplied. 

The distractions of a large hotel are many, 
and the groups were not long united. 
Catherine and Porte-Chester had met some 
English people traveling in the States, 
and were, in consequence, drawn some dis- 
tance off. Mrs. Porte-Chester had gone 
within, and just then Vanderslyce ap- 
proached. “How are you, little woman?” 
he said, addressing Geraldine, “I thought 
you must be very ill to bar me out. Head- 
ache, dear?” And he gently touched her 
hair. 

“Yes, terrific, Willie. I fancied I would 
surely die. Have you heard of Mr. Lange?” 

“His boat has only just returned. I 


56 


A survival 


think ril go aboard and get my lunch. 
Better come, he always wants you, too." 

Geraldine was up in arms. Chase his 
fleeting smiles and shadow? Not she. 
So she said, ‘‘No,no, I would overdo my- 
self. But you trot along.” 

Vanderslyce strode away. "After all,” 
thought Mrs. Duckworth, "he was good- 
looking, and the mills he owned paid 
twenty-five per cent. Geraldine did not 
deserve such luck, and she felt a little 
envy. 

"What’s wrong, Jerry?” she said, a trifle 
sneeringly. "Has anyone displaced the 
gay and festive Lange?” 

To Geraldine it had been gradually 
dawning, that this might be the case re- 
versed; with some one in her place, or at 
any rate, a rival in a growing want of 
ardor on the part of him referred to. 

The other woman’s quip was at this 
time particularly aggravating, and she 
wheeled herself about with sharpness. 

"I do wish, my dear Belle,” she said 
with sweetness, ominously overdone, "that 
you would remember, I at least, have kept 


OF THE FITTEST 


57 


my skirts unblackened. For a woman of 
your age, you have a trait of vulgarism 
which time should have obliterated,” with 
which she rose, and piloted herself away. 

Of unfortunate speeches she had made 
not a few, but the sum total of them all 
aggregated less in harm to her, than the 
one most recently recorded. Mrs. Duck- 
worth had not been two weeks at Saint 
Gervaise for nothing. Her maid did not 
in all things satisfy her, and in consequence 
it was at Pomone, that she cast her line. 
This had, as yet, only been productive of 
broken English confidences, among them 
being oft-repeated references to Lange. 
Mrs. Duckworth's speech that bore on what 
she then was busy guessing at, had not 
been meant as harm intending as it sound- 
ed, and the other's sudden anger had sur- 
prised her greatly. After Geraldine’s de- 
parture, she digested well the latter’s part- 
ing shot. She never had much trouble in 
memorizing any insult given her, and on 
this occasion to make sure, she figura- 
tively tied a piece of twine about her fin- 
ger. It matte;red little, save the reference 


A SUI^VIVAL 


58 

to her fast advancing years. That one 
remark changed Mrs. Duckworth’s attitude 
toward Geraldine, from indifferent good- 
fellowship to lively hate. 


CHAPTER IV 

A casual reference has been made in these 
pages to a yacht, the Vendome^ owned by 
Hanover Lange. There is no gainsaying 
that the modern pleasure boat of steam 
equipment, and adapted for all weather, 
and all waters, is very near if not quite, 
a mecca of delights. When such a craft 
is secured, and by the simple twist of 
chance, there is little room left Tor com- 
plaint. The Vendome was in this wise 
gotten. 

Hanover Lange was of English parent- 
age, and very good parentage at that. So 
much so, that had they lived to see their 
son grown to man’s estate, and the life 
he lead at first, it would have cost them 
much concern. The philosopher who said 
that death occasionally displays much tact 
and forethought, does not deserve the 
gloom which now surrounds his name. 

59 


6o 


A SURVIVAL 


Lange having married very young, a sep- 
aration soon occurred, his wife returning 
to her mother. At the age of thirty being 
then a gambler, ne’er-do-well, and habitu6 
of clubs, he acquired through the law of 
entail some twenty thousand pounds per 
annum. The professional spendthrift will 
uphold his reputation, to the time his 
money in the actual reaches him — then 
find his equal for penuriousness! Lange 
was this, save that he continued his luxu- 
rious mode of life. The touts and jock- 
eys, gamblers and indigent actresses, who 
had found him lucratively careless, were 
relegated to the past and younger men 
than he. Indeed from the day they sunk 
his uncle under ground, and the strong box 
was his own, he had, with an exception, 
neither time nor inclination for the game. 

On this occasion, and a year subsequent 
to his inheritance, en route from Peters- 
burg, he stopped a month at Constantino- 
ple. An acquaintance introduced him at 
the Corean Club, and also a few weeks 
later to a rich and somewliat startling 
young American, and owner of a yacht 


OF THE FITTEST 


6i 


then in the bay. Of mutual leisure time 
their acquaintance broadened, and Lange 
shortly found his new friend’s passion was 
gambling. Before three days they could 
get but little time for food and sleep. 
The American, because he lost, and Lange 
by reason of his winnings found the time 
was passing rapidly. At length a careful 
calculation placed the Yankee’s cash sur- 
render at forty thousand dollars in his 
country’s money. That afternoon he made 
Lange a casual proposition, that fairly 
took the latter’s breath away. 

"I will," he said, “play you my yacht 
against the forty thousand lumped.” 

And thereat he showed him from a 
window of the Club, the boat anchored on 
the Bosporus, explaining all the while her 
merits. Her crew was fourteen men, beside 
a captain, mate, and chef. She was 
possessed of every modern appliance and 
sea-worthy under any circumstances. The 
provisions then were rather low, though 
the wines were scarcely touched. A pro- 
position of this kind struck Lange as Alad- 
din-like in its splendor, and he drummed 


62 


A SURVIVAL 


his teeth to call to mind anything ap- 
proaching it. The game they chose was 
Ecarti^ the best three out of five. Lange^s 
opponent played at random, like the pur- 
chases of children for the first time free 
from their parental check, and the former 
won three games consecutively, receiv- 
ing on the spot a deed of transfer. In the 
shrubbery they found the Amercian an 
hour later, dead ; the teeth protruding 
slightly and the hair but very little stirred, 
while in his hand he clutched a pistol. 
To do Lange justice, he stripped the boat 
of every article he could, and sent them 
to the address given on the corpse. He 
found it many weeks, however, before the 
acquisition fully dawned on him, or his 
feeling of a guest aboard the lovely craft 
wore off. 

At Brighton, a year before the opening 
of this narrative, he met the Vanderslyces. 
Within him there was blended to a nicety 
the Chesterfield and Machiavelli. There 
are some women who admire this sort of 
man, and of that number Geraldine might 
be classed as one. His brown mustache 


OF THE FITTEST 


63 


and hair close cropped, his blue eyes and 
his figure caught her fancy from the start. 
The question here arises, whether under 
other circumstances she would have es- 
caped such a liaison. Had her husband been 
a man of sounder calibre, and commanded 
from her respect, spiced with a grain of 
awe, her mind would likely have possessed 
a storage-room for little else. The woman 
undoubtedly was weak, one of those with 
whom sin has no lengthy struggle. Lange 
traveled with them during five succeeding 
months. It was a mild flirtation that at 
first ensued and, as at length the shoot- 
ing season was at hand, both Vanderslyce 
and wife were not adverse to spending it 
in Scotland, where Lange’s sister, a sport- 
ing marchioness, kept house for him a 
month in every year. During this sojourn 
an event occurred, which ever after preclud- 
ed Geraldine from looking fully in her hus- 
bond’s eyes. With Lange it was a passion 
for which he could not in the leastwise ac- 
count, and it was in this condition that 
when the Vanderslyces started home, he 
crossed the water also. His was a tern- 


64 


A SURVIVAL 


perament that while it did not view the 
finish with indifference, yet the relish of 
the chase was uppermost. 

Porte-Chester’s opinion regarding the 
identity of the Vendome, was entirely cor- 
rect, for some miles out the selfsame 
craft was rapidly approaching Saint Ger- 
vaise. On board the owner was at the 
stern, an awning being stretched across 
the spot, which was liberally supplied with 
rugs and wicker furniture. Lange stretched 
out full length, was industriously consum- 
ing cigarettes, while the steward hovered 
near with ears alert for orders. Forward, 
a man with a small bird gun, was endeav- 
oring to bring down some gulls. In dis- 
gust he finally gave it up, and ambled aft. 

“Quack,” said the yachtsman still 
stretched out, “does your military train- 
ing here, teach you such clever gunning? 
Had you commanded Bunker Hill, there 
would, I am sure, have been a different 
result. ” 

“I haven’t a doubt you’re right,my boy," 
said the addressed, gulping down a glass 


OF THE FITTEST 65 

of Monopole. "I am a better hand at 
duck on land, you know.” 

Lieutenant Chalmers Quack was of the 
kind that turned toward the army after 
the war had ceased, and was of a variety 
of man becoming fast extinct. He was 
a speciman of gourj?iet fine and rare, and one 
in fact, who tucked his napkin underneath 
his chin. Of fifty years and medium height, 
his white mustache and watery eyes gave 
to his red besotted face, the halo of an 
epicure. His personality was that of men 
who eat their breakfast and their supper 
in the Broadway side of DeFs, at twelve 
A. M., and twelve p. m., respectively. His 
acquaintship with Lange 'had dated many 
years, and he 'had found his way on board 
the boat at New Port News. 

Lange, catching sight of Vanderslyce, 
the boat by this time having rounded up, 
sent the launch at once and had him 
brought on board. The three then 
lunched, the little main salon sealed in 
walnut, serving as their dining room. 
Quack who Was a clever r'aconteur^, and 

knew it, finally said— 

5 


66 


A SUjRVI VAL 


"I was called West on business about 
three weeks ago. One day in Minnesota, 
I was on an antiquated railroad having a 
terminus some where in the Northern part 
of the state. Presently there came through 
the car a revivalist, whose profession was 
in no wise under cover. From her blue 
goggles to her miniature set of curls, she 
looked the part which so often figures in 
cartoons. As she \yalked down the aisle 
she left a tract with each imprisoned pas- 
senger. A man in front of me was sleep- 
ing soundly and when she reached him, 
and for want of any other place, she stuck 
the paper down his neck. Startled, he, of 
course, awoke, and fishing out the tract 
perused it carefully. He was evidently 
of a patient nature and one who bides his 
time. Presently the woman having fin- 
ished, retraced her steps. My neighbor 
stopped her on the way. 

“‘I am/ he said, ‘indebted to you, but 
find myself unable to accept your propo- 
sition.’ 

" ‘But why so, brother?’ said the woman, 


OF THE FITTEST 67 

• 

‘you must know that heaven^s mercy is 
unending.^ 

" ‘Doubtless very true, but as I am a 
wholesale drummer of religious works and 
bibles, I fear that matters would not run 
as smoothly, as might be desired. Another 
point, and why I can’t embrace the oppor- 
tunity ; ni}^ wife in Idaho would not in 
any likelihood give her consent to such a 
union, enchanting though the prospect is,^ 
and he handed back the pamphlet on which 
was blazoned in letters two inches in diam- 
eter, ‘Abide with Me.’" 

Lange rolled a cigarette. ‘‘Tell Van- 
derslyce, " he said, ‘‘that one that hits your- 
self. " 

Quack was nothing, if not good-natured. 
He turned and smiled at Willie. "Lange 
was the only one to whom I ever volun- 
tarily confided this, and he has ever since 
abused the confidence. However, if he 
enjoys it, I don’t mind. It occurred in 
London about two years ago. One even- 
ing I was standing after dinner in front 
of Cartlidge’s. It was rapidly growing 
dark, and I was pondering how I would 


68 


A SURVIVAL 

employ the time. It was in the latter 
part of May, and very warm. Being in 
evening dress I donned a light overcoat 
leaving it unbuttoned, owing to the heat. 
Presently there emerged from the main 
entrance a'gentleman and lady, the woman 
being very handsome. They glanced at 
me on their way to a waiting cab, and be- 
fore entering the woman turned, seemed 
to consider a moment, and then leaving 
the man in the conveyance, retraced her 
steps to me. I noticed, as she approached, 
that she was a thorough going blonde, and 
put up superbly. To my amazement she 
extended her hand. 

'“Why, Mr. Milford,’ she said, 'how 
charmed I am to see you; this is certainly 
a complete and agreeable surprise. I 
thought it very strange you failed to re- 
cognize me. How are all your people 
down in Sussex?’” ' 

"It did not take it long,” continued 
Quack, "to dawn on me that a confusion 
of identities was the matter, but,” a little 
ruefully, ‘T thought it quite the proper 
thing to play the farce out. So I squeezed 


OF THE FITTEST 


69 


the dainty outstretched hand, and mur- 
mured something about a heavenly delight 
at this chance meeting. The girl could 
not be charged with any want of volubil- 
ity. 

" T dare say,^ she rattled off, ‘you are 
quite surprised to see me, but I am stop- 
ping here with friends, and having any 
quantity of fun, besides continuing my 
painting. I confidently expected to run 
across you ere this, but,’ with a charming 
upward glance, ‘I have not heretofore been 
so lucky. I have done the theatres, and 
studios from start to finish. Don’t you 
think that Beerbohm Tree is fascinating?’ 
"I volunteered the opinion that such, 
without a question, was the case. We 
were standing very close together, a trifle 
aside from the entrance, and it was now 
completely dark. The girl’s big, glitter- 
ing eyes fairly fascinated me. 

" ‘And how is your motherp’rattled on the 
seemingly unconscious miss. ‘The dear 
good soul, I love her very, very much. I 
am going to remain until the Ascot week, 
and I certainly shall expect to see more 


70 


A SURVIVAL 


of you, for really,’ edging confidentially 
closer, ‘the people that Pm with are very 
slow, and, er — why, Mr. Milford, ’approach- 
ing closer, ‘how you have changed ! Why, 
why, you aren’t Mr. Milford at all!’ 

“I thought it very rich indeed, and was 
busy memorizing every word and action 
to carry home in souvenir of British stu- 
pidness. ‘I really,’ I said, suppressing 
my amusement, ‘must deny affinity with 
Mr. Milford.’” 

‘‘‘And, and,’ with difficulty and from 
horror keeping off a fainting fit, ‘you are 
not a Sussex Milford?’ 

"‘I must,’ I grinned, ‘deny that Sussex 
is my native heath.’” 

‘‘The girl peremptorily turned and fled, 
and gaining the four-wheeler, the entire 
party disappeared like magic. I hurt m}"- 
self with laughter for an hour, and until I 
chanced to have occasion for m3' watch. It 
was gone and a further search revealed 
that a diamond stud and roll of mone}', the 
latter carried in my waistcoat, were also 
missing. When the truth had dawned, 
it ruined my digestion. The girl had 


OF THE FITTEST 


71 


taken at one fellswoop, and from an Amer- 
ican officer, in all some thirteen hundred 
dollars, one half of it in money. I never 
recovered a penny, nor a large bulk of 
conceit which disappeared with the valu- 
ables. ” 

"A reciprocity for Yankee jokes on Eng- 
lish want of wit,” said Lange. 

The men went up on deck, and ordering 
the launch, they started for the shore, 
which they reached some distance from 
the dock. This forced them to return to 
Saint Gervaise along the beach. The walk 
permits some charming visions through 
the foliage, of the shell-road running 
parallel. 

That afternoon. Miss Shirley having 
learned that in the hotel livery there was 
a very decent cart, bethought her that to 
thoroughly enjoy a drive along the shore 
she would go alone. She had never known 
Geraldine so seemingly adverse to com- 
pany, or in a state where nervousness held 
such supremacy. It was a day when every- 
thing was azure, green, and gold, and she 
touched the roan cob sharply with the 


72 


A SURVIVAL 


whip. Presently Catherine noticed, as 
she sent the horse along, that it was with 
evident effort that he kept his pace. Not 
but that he answered well, and assur- 
edly, he was quite as fresh, as at the start ; 
but something was wrong, which she 
quickly conceived to be a happening to 
his right forefoot. Eminently practical, 
and a thorough horse-woman, with some- 
thing more than clever hands she reined 
up. Alighting from the cart, she went 
forward and raised the injured member. 

To Lange who had loitered in the rear, 
and who now through the foliage caught a 
glimpse of her — she looked a picture more 
than lovely. He noted her procure her 
parasol, and with the blunted end pry out 
the stone imbedded in the horse’s foot, and 
how with small ado, she handed herself 
across the wheel, and with a sharp "Get- 
up!" bowled out of sight. He thought 
that when the scene was over, the vege- 
tation and the stillness seemed a little less 
enticing. For some, and at first sight, the 
girl possessed a sensuality of lip and form, 
which caught the suspicioned gaze of 


OF THE FITTEST 


73 


'women and made men of an imaginative 
turn quiver. 

That evening he met her formally. He 
had watched her from a doorway while 
she danced in company with two dozen 
couples, who whirled about with a despon- 
dency, that showed they keenly felt the 
difference between hotel lancers, and a 
legitimate affair. In Catherine he could 
not help but note her splendid pose and 
action, and as she would pass him rapidly, 
be thought he caught a question in her 
fleeting glance. That vague “Who are 
you?” which a girl so easily expresses in 
a look, that lasts a second, and leaves a 
man to wonder if his imagination was at 
fault or not. Later being introduced, he 
said — 

“I saw you this afternopn at a place and 
time when I. think you did not know you 
were observed. Miss Shirley." 

She raised her brows. “And where, 
pray?” she rejoined. 

“Do you not remember,” he said, laugh- 
ingly, “when your horse went lame, and 
you utilized your parasol to clear his foot?” 


74 


A SURVIVAL 


“Oh, yes,” said Catherine, blushing, and 
wondering, woman-like, if she did it grace- 
fully. “But where were you?” 

“Some distance off. I saw you through 
the shrubbery and should most certainly 
have come to your assistance, but for the 
fact that you were through and gone be- 
fore I could have reached you. Beside, 
I did not like to deprive myself of viewing 
such a charming sight.” 

The girl detested compliments from 
acquaintances of short duration, but with 
Lange she found his tone so earnest that 
shediad no room to take offence. They 
talked long and uninterruptedly. An ad- 
vantage in hotel life at resorts, on which 
the catalogue is silent is, that young peo- 
ple can converse and see each other with 
scarcely any perceptible restraint. To 
marriageable girls this is a point of grave 
importance. When they parted, the 
thoughts of each were on the other for 
some little time. Catherine communed 
unto herself that he was very clever, and 
that his nationality could be detected in a 
dungeon. 


OF THE FITTEST 


75 


Lange’s impressions were: “She is of 
splendid make-up, and has a latent force 
that’s sleeping, and perhaps will always 
remain so. She is the product of a coun- 
try whose surprises I begin to think, I 
never will exhaust.” 


CHAPTER V 


The band was playing the opening dance 
of the hotel’s famous hop; in truth, the 
elaborate preparations which had taken 
place tor several weeks previous, would 
give the entertainment the dignity alloted 
to a ball. Lent was but half past, but 
nevertheless the dancing room was crowd- 
ed with guests, and the floor so covered, 
as not to permit of spread trains or even 
a well turned waltz. Despite Mrs. Porte- 
Chester’s religious scruples she graced the 
occasion with her brightest looks, which 
were not deceiving to her intimate friends. 
“It is true,” she argued to herself, “that 
one should not encourage such doings, but 
when one has a grown son — ,”and then 
she immediately prepared to attend. 

The Porte-Chesters’ set, with an atti- 
tude of well-bred squatter sovereignty, 
secured one corner of the room to them- 

76 


OF THE FITTEST 


77 


selves, and never danced far from there. 
The special attraction to them this even- 
ing was the presence of a widower, James 
Duryer, Esq., English M. P., and his two 
lovely daughters , the latter costumed in 
some elaborate stuffs which set off their 
tall robust figures, and caused much envy 
to Mrs. Duckworth’s heart. She followed 
them well, and fancied that she had their 
movements to the turning of an eyelash. 
Her invitations of late years from her 
sisrer Lady Dare had grown rather scarce, 
and in order to keep herself in tune she 
was forced to take advantage of all oppor- 
tune occasions to study English customs; 
albeit, that she surveyed them through a 
telescope. She had been the first to take 
the newcomers up, and it was with the aid 
of her pocket edition of Burkes, that she 
proved them to be connected with the 
best of British families. 

“I really think,” said Mrs. Duckworth 
thoughtlessly, as she seated herself near 
Mrs. Vanderslyce, “that Mr. Lange has 
favored Miss Shirley this evening, more 


78 


A SURVIVAL 


than any of his old friends, or his two 
countrywomen. ” 

“I don’t doubt it," answered Geraldine, 
and her voice was slightly tinged with sar- 
casm. "It is not all young men that are 
so blessed with a motherly woman’s watch- 
fulness ; indeed, I shall feel obliged to tell 
him of your kindly interest in his move- 
ments. Mr. Porte-Chester !” she called, 
"Do take me for an ice, I am famished 
for something cool," and laying her hand 
on his proffered arm, they walked away 
between the music’s intermission. 

"You look tired," he said as he offered 
her a glass. "I think myself that it is too 
warm for dancing. ” 

"Do I? Then my face betrays me. I 
am rather bored with this place. "Oh!" 
she said with sudden enthusiasm, "there is 
Catherine ; now do take a dance with her. 
You don’t know what a charming pair you 
make. And then,” confidentially, "I dislike 
to have her paid such strict attention by a 
man who is bound for life to some one 
else. You know how anxious the world 
is to talk, and I feel the responsibility 


OF THE FITTEST 


79 


deeply, as it was at my instigation alone 
that she came here. A chaperon's life is 
not the pleasantest. ” She smiled mean- 
ingly, and they walked slowly to the other 
end of the room. 

“1 fancy that I get your meaning,” he 
said in a vague way, “you think that 
Lange is fond of her?” He watched for 
her reply. 

"No,” she answered, hurriedly, "not 
that, but then, you know, they say that 
one can never predict what a woman will 
do. However, in this case,” and he felt 
a slight pressure on his coat-sleeve, “I 
think from what I have discovered, that 
another has more likelihood of being fa- 
vored, if he would but push his suit, and 
pay her incessant attention to the exclu- 
sion of all else. That is what pleases a 
woman and wins her regard. Of course, 
this is only my opinion, but still don’t you 
think, if this young aspirant was a little, 
just a little, more enthusiastic, that it 
would do wonders?” And she looked up 
archly into his face. 

“Then you think that Catherine, I mean 


8o 


A SUI^VIVAL 


Miss Shirley, would, er — that is, will marry 
where she loves?” His face was pale, and 
she could feel a slight tremor pass over 
his frame. 

"I am confident she is not a woman to 
be influenced in any way, except by the 
dictates of her heart. No, Mr. Porte- 
Chester, Catherine is a woman among 
women, and it is only when I am with 
her, that I realize my own inferiority. 
The man who wins her consent may feel 
sure that he has her heart. ” She spoke 
deeply, and was so in touch with the sen- 
timent she echoed, that every word told 
on her listener. 

He resolved to speak at once, when the 
opportunity should offer, and with this 
intention he asked Catherine for the suc- 
ceeding dance, which happened to be un- 
alloted. The time, nevertheless, did not 
favor his will. The ball-room of a hotel 
does not turn one’s thoughts to romance. 
He planned a promenade upon the bal- 
cony, but found it too cool after dancing, 
and then the place was already frequented 
by persons less careful of their health. 


OF THE FITTEST 


8i 


There were no curtained alcoves, or cosy 
nooks, of which even modern hotels, seek- 
ing to imitate the comforts of a home, find 
space too restricted to permit. When he 
came to ' bid her good-night they found 
themselves alone in the hallway, but only 
for a moment, when his mother bore down 
on them and forced him to escort her to her 
rooms. Reaching them she made him en- 
ter, and dismissing her maid she brewed 
for him a delicious cup of tea, such as 
only women having lived in England, or in 
Russia, are competent to do. He watched 
fondly her slender hands perform the func- 
tions. 

“Dear mother,” he said, taking one of 
them and kissing it, “how young you are, 
and how proud I should be of your ap- 
pearance. ” She flushed with pleasure at 
his praise. 

“And you, Joe,” she replied, “you make 
my heart so warm. You so well deserve 
the place you occupy, that the adoration 
of a mother, seems in my case justified. 
I know your honor far too clearly to think 

that you would ever stoop beneath you* 
6 


82 


A SURVIVAL 


But tell me, do we go to London in May? 
You know Miss Perrine will be there for 
the season, and I am confident that no 
one in her estimation fills your place.” 

She watched him secretly, but found 
the voyage, or the prospects on the other 
side, brought little recognition from him. 

His mind was deep on other subjects. 
How lovely she had looked to-night with 
glistening arms and shoulders ; her lips 
blood red, and smiling with a radiance 
that had glued his eyes to her. Had his 
mother pressed him for an answer, he would 
have informed her bluntly that he did not 
need to go abroad for allurements, or for 
charms such as possessed by Miss Perrine. 

When he had gone the woman gazed long 
into space. She was ambitious that her 
son should in his marriage venture secure 
the choice of what was then available, and 
the way she closed her firm teeth on the 
thought, boded success for any girl who 
favorably impressed her. Feeling a trifle 
dispirited, Joe also turned to his apart- 
ments, where he had a.fire built, and where 
before its blazing light he consumed some 


OF THE FITTEST 


83 


big cigars, and meanwhile hurt his eyes 
by gazing at the logs, until the sounds of 
revelry had ceased. 

Mrs. Vanderslyce had wondered in what 
way her machinations would result. She 
was growing to hate the woman that peo- 
ple called her protegd, and the last few days 
had worried her into a state of almost 
frenzy. Lange’s attentions to Miss Shir- 
ley had been marked, and from the very 
start. Both his hazy reputation, and the 
fact that he was married was well known; 
but despite this, who was there to say a 
word, or who could cast the stone? As for 
Geraldine, she resorted more regularly to 
the artificial means of which Pomone was 
mistress, but for all that her eyes showed 
a restlessness that was foreign to the 
woman. She was changeable, and peev- 
ish, but she was obliged to play her part 
in the little world about her. Being un- 
able to eat, she filled the vacuum by fre- 
quent resortings to stimulants. She tried 
a new brand of tobacco, one that contained 
more opiates, but thi-s last venture gave 
her an inclination to distemper, and in- 


84 


A SURVIVAL 


creasing twinges of the green-eyed mon- 
ster. Within her heart there formulated 
an anamosity for Catherine, unnatural to 
her sunny disposition. In a woman’s 
breast alone excessive hate can grow within 
a score of hours. A change in which the 
weather sometimes shows its nimbleness, 
cannot excel the difference the female heart 
will undergo within an ebbing of the tide. 

“At last," said Lange, as he drew up a 
seat for Mrs. Vanderslyce in a vacated 
caard-room, some distance from the danc- 
ing,and which had escaped Porte-Chester’s 
search. “At last I can pay my court at 
the feet of the world’s lovliest queen,” 
and he seated himself on a lover’s-stool, 
close to her. 

“No need of forced flattery,” said Ger- 
aldine in a voice of irritation. “I have 
not come here for that.” 

“I am at your pleasure ; what shall we 
say or do? Cards?” And he picked up 
a pack from the table. 

“You treat me as though I were a child, 
and could be bought by your patronizing 
sayings. ” She beat the floor with her foot, 


OF THE FITTEST 85 

&nd clasped and unclasped her hands fe- 
verishly. 

“I am sure, that was farthest from my 
thoughts. What more do you desire? 
Haven’t I paid you every compliment in 
the catalogue?” His voice was his pleas- 
antest, but underneath Geraldine thought 
that she detected a sneer. 

“No !" And she stood before him trem- 
bling, and in a pasion. “You regard me 
as a toy of which -you have grown weary. 
I hate you!” Sinking on the chair she 
burst into tears. 

“I am sorry for that,” he answered 
slowly, “and surely if variety is the spice 
of life, I must give you your share, since 
by your own admission my treatment dif- 
fers so; beside I think it would be well 
to suppress emotion in a place as public 
as this.” In looking at her now, he felt 
that difficulty, and sense of irritation ex- 
perienced by those forced to pay their 
tailor, for a garment long since cast to 
the beggars, and his horror of scenes, like 
that of all Englishmen, was unbounded. 


86 


A SUkVlVAl 


Geraldine felt the force of his last words 
and dried her eyes at once. 

“You are looking poorly, “ Lange said, 
gnawing his mustache, and eyeing her 
critically. 

“One would think you lived on flaws, 
you love so to pick them, ’’ she answered 
tartly. “But then,” and her voice denoted 
sadness, “it Would seem to matter little 
to you, as this is our first confidential 
talk since your return.” 

“Have I to begin it all over again?” he 
thought. “For those who live and laugh, 
I presume some medicine at times is ne- 
cessar}^, and clearly this is my dose. Wo- 
men never know when we have enough of 
them.” Then he spoke aloud, “It has 
been for your character alone that I have 
desisted from my attentions, as you must 
know the world is not entirely blind to 
our friendship. For myself, it mat- 

ters little, as I will see but few of these 
around us, once I leave this country, and 
such taints are of but small import to a 
man’s character, while to a woman, it 


OF THE FITTEST 87 

ftieans an undying death. We loved while 
it lasted, but now — " 

"But now you have found another who 
suits your fancy better," she interrupted in 
a suffocated voice. "Oh, Hanover! I’ll 
say to the world ^frown your worst,’ and 
laugh, yes, laugh, if you will only love me. 
There is no danger, and were there any, 
it would only fall on me. To the dis- 
closures that you dread, I am indifferent, 
but then whatever should transpire I am 
confident my woman’s wit, could over- 
come. I will say, however, that should my 
husband find it out, poor idiot that he is, 
he would kill me. See, I risk all, and 
you nothing.” And she waved her hand 
aimlessly. 

For a moment he felt the spark revive 
within him, and certainly she was pretty 
with it all. Then Catherine passed the 
doorway, and he caught her clear laugh 
at some remark of her attendant. The 
spasm left him and he turned to Geraldine 
as cold as ice. 

She saw his look, and interpreted its 
reason. The sins recorded by the saints 


88 


A ^UJ^VIVAL 


combined, a woman can excuse. Slie 
draws the line only at one point — a rival. 

“I am wretched,” she said to herself. 
"Not to have the love one craves is death. ” 
And turning to watch his face, she caught 
^the reflection of her husband’s form in an 
opposite mirror. He had entered unob- 
served. "Yes, and all that I can say to 
Willie has no effect; he will go off on 
those fatiguing long tramps. Now do, 
Mr. Lange, use your influence,” and then 
apparently catching sight of Vanderslyce 
for the first time, she shyly placed her 
fan before her face. 

Willie hugged himself. “Was ever such 
a wife as this?" he thought, an opinion 
which he carried to the final reckoning. 

“By Gad!” he. would reiterate, “if all were 
as fortunate in the choosing, as myself, 
the world would run on wheels?” 

When Lange had reached the wharf, he 
found his men already there awaiting his 
appearance, and when they gained the 
yacht, he dismissed the watch entirely. 
He himself, not feeling the want of sleep 
walked to the bow, a place from which he 


OF THE FITTESE gg 

liked to view the sleeping town. The 
waters limpid in the moon’s declining light, 
lapped noiselessly beneath him. The clear 
southern sky was all aglow with stars 
that glittered with a brilliancy that be- 
spoke the fast approaching dawn, as can^ 
dies when almost consumed will glow 
their brightest. He thought of many 
things, and of thus far the wreck his life 
had been. He found in Catherine a girl 
precisely to his taste. He thought her 
marvelously beautiful, and though he had 
known her a few days only, she affected him 
as never any woman had before. Their 
waltz, that night he thought, had been 
sublime ; her dancing was beyond com- 
pare, and with it was a movement Orien- 
tal in its grace. Every look and word 
and gesture now came back, and of the 
many things of which they had talked, he 
recalled a little something, which now 
that he reviewed it sounded compliment- 
ary to himself, which she had said, and 
with a framing that had made it doubly 
fascinating. He smiled, then he frowned. 
The thought of Geraldine brought to him 


90 


A SUI^VIVAl 


a reality that had to be faced out. He 
did not like her actions, the more so from 
the fact that jealousy was largely taking 
hold of her. He cursed himself for ever 
having met the woman, and more so for 
the power she had wielded over him. And 
then his wife — a bond that held him mar- 
ried, yet as free as air. Through eyes, 
unprejudiced, he now saw that he had 
acted like a child, but as all men will do, 
he charged it to his want of luck, never 
thinking that the absence of the latter is 
merely want of forethought. 

A mist was slowly rising, the courier of 
the coming dawn. The man who at the 
bow was deep in his own thoughts, failed 
to heed the flight of time. Just then Lange 
had a sharp awakening, for a shot rang 
out, and he felt the singing of a bullet 
through his hair. He quickly dropped on 
deck, but the shot was not repeated. 
Stealthily running aft he found the place 
was vacant, and as still as death. Being 
a man quick of action he roused his cap- 
tain and had every man the craft con- 
tained turned out on deck. The early 


Of the fittest 


sun was just appearing, and the sight wa§ 
weird ; the crew in indiscriminate costume, 
and Lange in ndw disordered evening 
dress. When the men were drawn up, he 
gave to each a close inspection. On the 
eyes of all he detected signs of heavy sleep 
but recently disturbed, save one. This 
man was Larkins, a member of the original 
crew, and whom Lange utilized as waiter. 
He had never liked the fellow’s looks, and 
had observed on a number of occasions, 
his small keen eyes fixed on him wickedly. 
However, he had kept him owing to the 
merit of his work, and from the fact that 
when the necessity arose, he was capable 
of many crude accomplishments. Lange 
now recalled, on an occasion, he had caught 
him listening stealthily at his state-room 
door. Peremptorily he had had him pun- 
ished, and since that time had waited an 
opportunity favorable to his dismissal, 
and the procurement of a substitute. And 
now he looked him in the eye, and was 
convinced he read therein his guilt, but 
felt that the charge would then be rather 
circumstantial, and that his wisest course 


A survival 


would be to wait and watch, and in thi§ 
way, perhaps, land the culprit with a ball 
and chain, and, what was more, discover 
the motive of his animosity. 

Dismissing the men, Lange sought his 
room where, on investigation with a glass, 
he found his scalp grazed by the missile. 


CHAPTER VI 


Saturday had been planned for a drive to 
some famous groves of oranges, separated 
from the town by several miles of sandy 
road. The idea had been pushed by Van- 
derslyce, who was in fact a prospective 
buyer. He was quite enthusiastic over it, 
but like all his schemes, it failed to in- 
terest the others, and when the morning 
came it found all with excuses, Willie 
himself being the only one ready for the 
excursion. The disappointment was great, 
but he had become so accustomed to such 
instances that he went his way without 
complaint, accompanied only by his man. 

The others found solace in their papers, 
mail, and novels, to the usual accompani- 
ment of rockers. Mrs.. Porte-Chester was 
ill with her semi-monthly headache, and 
her son was, in consequence, freed from her 
skirts for the day, at least. His first move 

93 


94 


A SURVIVAL 


was to secure Miss Shirley and, if possible, 
to hedge her in from Lange, his now fast- 
becoming rival. At breakfast, he had pen- 
ciled her a line to meet him in the grounds 
an hour later, and long before that time 
he was waiting, nervously disfiguring an 
unlighted cigar. 

“How did 3'ou enjoy yourself last night?” 
he said, tossing the weed away, as she ap- 
proached him. 

“Splendidly,” she replied, “and the more 
so from the fact that I came very near not 
going. All of yesterday I felt particularly 
dispirited, and my head was so full of un- 
happy ideas that I had convinced myself 
that I would not go. Afterward I decided 
differently, for I recalled Lord Alfred Var- 
grave : 

“ ‘ In particular; also he thought much about 

His digestion, his debts, and his dinner: and last. 

He thought that the night would be stupidly pass’d 

If he thought any more of such matters at all: 

So he rose, and resolved to set out for the ball.’ ” 

“Meredith’s poetry,” replied Joe, “al- 
ways gives one a desire to sing it.” 

“By the by,” Catherine continued, “I 
must thank you for the lovely ‘American 
Beauties’ I found at my breakfast this 


OF THE FITTEST 


95 


morning. Do you know, Mr. Porte-Ches- 
ter, that you remind me very much of an 
old friend of my father’s? No,” and she 
laughed quickly, as she caught his glance, 
"I don’t mean in looks, for he was as 
homely a man as I ever met. In lieu of 
beauty, however, he possessed a charm of 
manner strong enough to make one unob- 
servant of his features or his form. But 
you recall him in ways of entertainment, 
and the knack you have of smoothing the 
little, unseen, but most annoying of all 
wrinkles, from the path of those fortunate 
enough to come in contact with you." 

"Good of you, Pm sure," he said,his voice 
expressing pleasure, and his face bright- 
ened. "Now kindly tell me of his char- 
acteristics, his ways, so that I may know 
what your ideal of mortals is, as I pre- 
sume you have those dreams which infect 
us all?" 

"Who, I? No, I can’t say that I have, 
but I think that Count de Resa was as 
near perfection, as the term can imply, 
and so, if you wish, I will describe him.” 
She stopped and watched a spider weave 


96 


A SURVIVAL 


his web around a neighboring shrub, and 
then continued: 

“I knew him well, as we spent some 
months at his country seat, when father 
was having me tutored in France. His 
mother was a Russian, and his father a 
direct descendant of the family whose 
title he bore, so that the Count seemed to 
have all the virtues which belong to both 
nationalities, with but few of their faults 
or vices. He was light, vivacious and 
happy, yet it was all subdued to a manly 
degree, by the stern roughness bequeathed 
him by his mother’s branch. He was ac- 
cused, by some, of nihilistic theories, but 
an acquaintanceship with him of fifteen 
minutes’ duration would disprove such 
calumny. Games, no matter of what coun- 
try, were all known to him, but more than 
that, you would think each one his pas- 
sion, he played them all so well. As a lin- 
guist, he was unexcelled in Europe, yet 
the fact he never breathed intentionally, 
and in this he was like the German offi- 
cer, who though proficient in seven lan- 
guages knew how to hold his tongue in 


OF THE FITTEST 


97 


each. At billiards, or at other pastimes he 
would make you fear his science, but in- 
variably flattered his guest’s vanity, by 
allowing them to take the brush." 

"Then you believe in flatter}^?" inter- 
rupted Porte-Chester, a little piqued, 
though he knew not why. 

"Yes, when it is delicately put, for I 
believe it does no harm, often good, and 
then who is proof against its wiles?" 

"Possibly," he answered thoughtfully. 
"But you are so strange. Miss Shirley, 
that I — well, I don’t know what to think. 
I hardly believe you will find another 
Count de Resa ; certainly not in these 
humdrum times, when the world is largely 
made up of characters, who are more like 
caricatures. " 

She stuck her parasol into the ground. 
"Do you know?" she said, "that I can’t 
make out Geraldine in the least , she is 
not only gliding into the state of a semi- 
invalid, but is taciturn to a degree. The 
change to me is marvelous, for before her 
marriage she was a perfect butterfly of 


7 


98 


A SURVIVAL 


happiness. Do you think her husband 
treats her ill?” 

Joe smiled. “Can you for one moment, ” 
he said, “imagine Vanderslyce abusing 
anything or anybody? No; attribute it to 
any other reason, but last of all to him.” 

Two young people seldom find a dearth 
of subjects, and their talk drifted to New 
York and mutual friends. 

“Our British cousins seem to make them- 
selves more agreeable than most of their 
people do,” said Catherine, as the Misses 
Duryer passed. “I think those girls are 
charming, but why is it that the average 
run of English people are so aggressive, 
after they have been in this country a few 
weeks? Can it be chagrin at seeing what 
the Revolution cost them?" 

“Before I left home,” her companion 
volunteered in answer to her question, “in 
a Broadway car one day, an old man of 
essentially English aspect entered ac- 
companied by, supposedl}^ his daughter. 
The conveyance being crowded, and the 
man’s health evidently of the poorest, I 
rose and proffered him my seat. No sooner 


OF THE FITTEST 


99 


did he occupy it, than addressing the girl 
in a distinctly audible tone, he started on 
a tirade against America, and her wa3^s. 
What an outrage indeed, to have such 
crowded cars, depriving many people of 
their seats. A country boasting of its 
conveniences and ingenuity, and in real- 
ity possessing neither. A want of civili- 
zation everywhere from w'hich the people, 
by no means were themselves exempt. 
From this he branched into a dissertation 
of the English Isle, in which he mis- 
stated things outrageously, and mentioned 
inventions and appliances, which I could 
have informed him had emanated from 
this country. Fancy my disgust !” 

“By the way,” said Catherine, “have 
you noticed Mrs. Duckworth’s unusual 
interest in the M. P. ? Isn’t she odd? 
The}^ had quite a discussion the other 
day about her alligator hobby, and he 
suggested flowers as something more effem- 
inate. ‘No, ’ she answered, ‘I always ab- 
sorb their sweetness, don’t you know.”* 

Joe laughed. “You are an expert mim- 
ic,’’ he said. 


lOO 


A SURVIVAL 


“Now, who’s flattering?” 

“Not I, it’s true I swear it!” And be- 
coming ardent, “In this, as in all things, 
you are in my opinion, perfect.” 

“You should see me in a temper.” 

“Bah! Yours must be angelic.” 

“And then my appetite is outrageous 
for an ethereal being, and romantic con- 
versation makes me sleepy.” 

Poor Joe! He saw what a cruel tease 
she could become. Lange’s unexpected 
turning up, just then did not improve his 
humor, nor that of Mrs. Vanderslyce, ob- 
serving from an upper window all that 
passed. 

The former sauntered up with lifted 
hat. “I saw you quite by accident,” he 
said, “and did not mean to interrupt, but 
your seat looked so inviting, I could not 
resist the impulse.” 

“I am certain,” Joe said unto himself, 
“that' that man is as great a liar as the 
world contains. He would, I think, say 
anything except, perhaps, his prayers.” 
Then rising huffily, he excused himself, 
leaving the usurper in sole possession. 


OF TFIE FITTEST 


loi 

Lange turned to Catherine and said, 
indicating the departing Joe, “in what way 
does he impress you?” 

“From the attention with which I’ve 
judged him, he strikes me as civil enough,” 
she' answered absently. 

With Lange she felt a sensation hitherto, 
to her, unknown — a little growing inter- 
est. She looked at him with troubled 
eyes, and wondered if the separation from 
his wife was her fault, or the man’s. 

“Come,” he said in a commanding way 
he had, “suppose that we walk to the 
Fort.” Flis mind was still on Porte-Ches- 
ter, for at length he said, “To me it is 
amusing to see that old saw illustrated, 
of the son tied to his mother’s apron 
strings. “ 

This angered Catherine, the more so 
from the fact that she felt she would lis- 
ten to this man no matter what he said. 

“I’ll trouble you to recollect,” she an- 
swered haughtily, “that Mr. Porte-Chester 
has my deepest respect, and when he 
graces our conversation, I do not care to 
hear of him in any terms save those of 


102 


A SURVIVAL 


kindness. His devotion to his mother, 
seems to me like poetry.” 

Lange saw that he had blundered, and 
determined to steer a very straight course 
to the opposite ; so he threw himself bod- 
ily to the task of entertaining her, and 
having traveled everywhere with eyes wide 
open,he was amply able to be anything but 
boring. They had reached the pile of 
ruins, and on a wall leading to the turrets 
they found convenient Seats. 

"Last Sunday,” Miss Shirley said, and 
laughed, ‘T received some music; selec- 
tions from light operas, and the newest 
waltzes. Having no piano nearer than a 
parlor not far from my apartment, I 
thought I would try the airs there and at 
once. About fifteen minutes afterward, I 
was visited by a dear old lady, fully eighty- 
five. ‘Young woman,’ she said, ‘are you 
not aware, this is the Lord’s day?’ I re- 
plied that the fact was not unknown to 
me. ‘Then how can you so desecrate the 
occasion with music of that character?’ I 
said I regretted to learn that the strains 
had disturbed any one, and should most 


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103 


certainty cease them at once. ‘But, I 
said, 'will you not, madam, inform me 
wherein a difference in the measure, should 
constitute music flippant or secular?' 
You can imagine the manner in which that 
routed her. ’’ 

“Then,” he replied, laughing, “do I un- 
derstand myself to have the honor of ad- 
dressing a free-thinker?” 

“Yes, and no. I have very little real 
religion in me. I love to live a free and 
unrestricted life; sometimes surrounded 
by unfettered nature, and again the bustle 
of the overgrown town I call m}^ home. 
But above all, I want to be as undetained 
as any passing breeze. So far, I have 
found no need or inclination for the forms 
and petty practices the modern church 
exhibits. I love to sit arid gaze at unob- 
structed landscape. To watch the shad- 
ows, where the sun has failed to reach. 
Then out into the open, through hills and 
vale, and to that point where vision says 
the sky and earth are joined. I love to 
watch some pounding cataract. It fills 
me with more awe than death contains. 


A SUIIVIVAL 


164 

or any tale the church tells of the fate 
those meet who don’t embrace its pre- 
cepts. When I see a mass of water unre- 
strained, hiding in its breast the secret of 
its motive-power, and tumbling on its 
Course toward the infinite, I feel like bow- 
ing down to it and saying, ‘Behold, dear 
God, your grandeur has benumbed me.’” 

‘‘Ah, then you are not a Christian?” he 
rejoined, and his interest in the woman 
increased. 

‘‘Not according to the generally accepted 
theory, and now that you’ve suggested it," 
demurely, ‘‘I feel quite heathenish.” 

“And,” he said, intently eyeing the var- 
nish on his boots, “younever go to church?” 

"Oh, yes, quite often, and also to the 
opera. Music I adore, and none grander 
can be heard than our churches and cathe- 
drals furnish. Then, too, I love the pomp, 
as an exhibition to the eye. The old vest- 
ments, the processional, and the incense. 
Pm as pleased at it, as any child at youth- 
ful romance.” 

“If you think the church a farce — par- 
don me, an operatic production, how do 


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the marriages which daily are enacted 
there impress you? Nine-tenths of them 
of a financial character?” 

Within his voice there was a bitterness 
which none are able to suppress, when 
conversation touches on a point which 
tears apart some half-healed wound. 

"Those represent the farce,” replied the 
girl, her voice quite serious, "and do you 
know, I think they are the saddest things 
in life. Fancy to what degree the prac- 
tice has descended, when no longer love 
plays any part. Though it may bruise a 
girl’s heart black and blue, she must needs 
traverse the walks of life beside, perhaps, 
some being unattractive, uncongenial, and 
debilitated. A martyr to the dictates of 
parental force ; or still more common, a 
doorway which permits a passage for the 
parents into circles hitherto shut off. A 
mother whose ambition overcomes her 
love, and whose mind is engrossed with 
a desire to flash her newly gotten gems, 
where her friends of former days can never 
meet her. A father who forgets the man 
to whom he gives his daughter is unworthy, 


io6 


A SURVIVAL 


or that he in his own marriage pleased 
himself. Far better let us have free love, 
but then, excuse me, my opinions must be 
shocking. ” 

She had a fascinating trick of leaping 
with an unexpected bound from gravity, 
to a tone almost, if not quite frivolous. 

“When you care to ventilate them,” 
Lange answered, dryly, “do not wait for 
me to turn my back, I pray you, for I 
think them wholly charming.” 

Through the noon’s heat they retraced 
their way, their faces flushed from walk- 
ing. At the the stairs she waved her hand 
and disappeared. Near the entrance Lieu- 
tenant Quack and Mrs. Duckworth were 
conversing. The latter had succeeded in 
cornering the officer not quite two hours 
previous, and since then had held him 
bound, though not as docile as she might 
have wished. Just now she was regal- 
ing him with all the nasty things and 
family skeletons their mutual acquaint- 
anceship possessed. For elaborateness 
and detail, together with points dating 
back for twenty years, he thought her 


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107 


memory marvelous. The fine distinction 
which she drew between, “Pve heard,” and 
‘T have seen,” with care that what she 
had seen should be of very recent date, 
he thought was skillful. With incidents 
too broad to mention, she was also very 
clever. A gesture with her daintily gloved 
hand supplied a word too coarse for cul- 
tivated people. At length with colors 
drooping. Quack effected his escape, and 
later meeting Lange, he said, " E rumor 
had the run of the clubs some weeks ago, 
that Duckworth contemplated suicide. 
Pm not surprised, for I have just had a 
two hours seance with the cause of his de- 
pression.” 


CHAPTER VII 

And so matters ran along at Saint Ger- 
vaise. Mrs. Porte-Chester was using every 
bit of influence she possessed, to induce 
her son to leave the place, continuing on 
their itinerary, as first laid out. So far 
she had met with but a small measure of 
success. Joe ordinarily was of a nature eas- 
ily controlled, and since he had grown to 
man’s estate, contrar}^ to the usual run in 
his position, amours with him had been 
but few. Bohemians he did not care for, 
and to the demi monde he was still more 
indifferent. Not that he was at all a Puri- 
tan, nor wanting in a knowledge of the 
charms which hold the senses at maturity. 
But his nature was by far too earnest, to 
combat his. finer feelings any length of 
time. The mother knew quite well that 
in this case her interference would be 
worse than useless, and perhaps, would 

108 


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109 

only hasten matters to an issue, which she 
dreaded. Her only hope was that the girl 
would at this point do something harsh or 
grating, or induce by some stray action, 
a criticism which would end in turning 
him aside ; though when she taxed her mem- 
ory on cases such as this, she thought the 
hope extremely doubtful of fulfillment. 
Something told her that the wisest course 
was silence. Then, too, and somewhat scan- 
dalized, she had seen the ardor of Joe^s 
rival, and experience had taught her that 
though competition may give life to trade, 
in love it is a microbe. 

The rain was pouring down in torrents 
on a succeeding morning, and the men hav- 
ing played at billiards until the time 
had grown heavy, assembled in a little 
smoking room adjoining that of the bar. 

The night before, Porte-Chester’s sleep 
had been restless and of a hectic charac- 
ter. Toward the break of day his wander- 
ings had assumed a horrid aspect. As 
those in dreams invariably enact the cen- 
tral figure, he thought he stood upon a 
sandy shore alone* To the rear stretched 


no 


A SURVIVAL 


miles of unobstructed moor, a labor to 
the eye in circumventing ; no structures 
were in sight, and were there ever any, 
they had long since been razed to the 
ground. Towering at the north, he saw 
a lofty mountain peak which liiilked the 
clouds, whose breath was frigid, and then 
a moment later, humid. But it was toward 
the sea his haggard eyes kept gazing, for'it 
a distance temptingly beyond his reach, 
lay a craft he knew to be the Vendonie. On 
her deck, he saw a crew of ghastly mein 
preparing to put out to sea, and the fun- 
nels were already vomiting. At the stern 
he saw distinctly Catherine, and at her 
side stood, ghastly like the crew, one whom 
he recognized as Lange, whose face was 
sallow, grinning, and emaciated. Across 
the water he could see within the girl’s 
eyes, a sad, yearning, expression. Once or 
twice she held her arms toward him, and 
he strained his ears to catch some word 
or sound. Within him was a racking up- 
roar, and he strove with all his strength 
and might to force himself into the surf, 
and gain her side. His hands seemed 


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HI 


bound, and every fibre of his body para- 
lyzed. Presently he saw that Catherine 
was in the arms of Lange. The latter, 
his teeth like tusks, and lips discolored 
by disease, was tasting all the sweetness 
that the girPs fair face contained. He 
thought he must go mad, he saw it so dis- 
tinctly. At last by one supreme effort he 
regained his tongue. 

“Catherine !’’he shrieked, “leap off, quick, 
quick, for I am here to save you!” 

But across the angry waste he caught 
her bell-like cadence, “No, no, I cannot, 
for we must submit to what fate holds in 
store, and know then, that this is my des- 
tiny. ” 

“Yes,” croaked the corpse-like form, she 
stood beside, “you may stand there until 
the crack o’doom, for aught that you can 
do.” Whereat the vessel turned, and with 
rapidity struck out to sea. 

Porte-Chester awoke, with a bitter tast- 
ing in his mouth, and though he grimly 
scoffed at the intelligence the brain dis- 
plays when in repose, he could not, some- 
how, shake off the gloom his dream had 


1 12 


A SURVIVAL 


brought. And now, as he sat with Lange, 
the length of a card-table separating them, 
something in the man’s face enhanced the 
vision of the night before. 

Quack, considerably the worse for wear 
from a prolonged, though quietly conduct- 
ed spree, was putting forth his views on 
the money stringency. It was in his opin- 
ion caused by want of confidence on the 
part of foreign financiers. 

"And why,” he said, "is that the case?” 
bringing down his fist resoundingly, and 
thereby over-tipping a syphon-bottle. 
"Simply owing to the idiocy of our gov- 
ernment. The country’s rich with heavy 
revenues, and where, pray, does the money 
go? For instance, liberal allowances are 
made by congress, owing to a river and 
harbor pressure, for the erection of im- 
proved docks and pier-heads. Then what 
is fastened to them? Foreign crafts of 
every character, steamships carrying pas- 
sengers, but subsidized by other powers, 
giving them in case of war sleuth-hounds 
of speed unequaled, and unlimited advan- 
tage. But of native crafts there are none^ 


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113 

except a paltry few, in proportion more 
absurd than though we had a navy with 
no ships at all." Quack, owing to his 
nerves, and the decanter that he faced 
was waxing fearful, and he continued in 
a quavering voice. "This, gentlemen, is 
the land of my nativity, and when I see 
such wanton disregard of safety, I feel a 
grief, a grief which rends my heart. Look, 
sirs, at the land force of this country. 
Pigmy is the proper word to represent it, 
and then at the attention given to the art 
of strife. Now then, in case of war, who^s 
left to take the head?” 

"Lieutenant Chalmers Quack," said 
Lange. 

"Another point, " the Parlimentary mem- 
ber, who was present, said, "is that you 
look on any conflict with America as rather 
humorous. I have noticed when the case 
comes up, that while the press and peo- 
ple view it with an all absorbing interest, 
they make their observations, and their 
calculations in a tone that deals with pos- 
sibilities, far more than probable events, 
and in this they err. My word for it, a 


A SURVIVAL 


114 

two-thirds part of Europe, is nearly fam- 
ished for a bite of this fair land.” 

As men on pleasure bent will do, when 
precluded by the weather from the enjoy- 
ment of the out-door air, they fell, with 
the possible exception of Porte-Chester, 
to pretty steady and liberal drinking. In 
addition they sampled the different con- 
coctions known only to the South, and 
those et al, within ther knowledge of the 
person at the bar. In consequence, both 
Lieutenant Quack and Lange, were soon 
considerably affected. The former, as was 
his wont in this condition, presently be- 
came obscene, and Lange though . little 
given to a foul tongue, on this occasion 
followed suit. They poured forth dirty 
reminiscences in the nauseous smelling 
stream, men so conditioned find it easy to 
recall, with tales that usually stagnate in 
the air of bagnios and beer-halls. At 
length Quack thought it appropriate to 
state that to his mind the female limb 
looked best in hosiery dyed black, while 
Lange held to that of other colors. 

Meanwhile the Parliamentary member, 


OF THE FITTEST 


115 

not listening, was more than half asleep, 
while Joe was longing for a chance to get 
away. The devil seemed to be in Lange, 
for he struck a gait of personalities with 
remarks apropos^ or rather inappropriate 
of Geraldine and Mrs. Duckworth. At 
last he over-stepped the bounds. 

"Miss Shirley has," he said half drunk- 
enly, "the neatest foot, by Jove, I ever 
saw. ” 

To Joe this acted like a spark, and his 
eyes were blazing, as he rose and leaned 
across the table. 

"I will," he said to Lange, his voice 
quite low, "thrash you within an inch of 
your existence, should you ever in my 
presence, speak that way of her again, ” at 
which he turned and left the bar. Quack 
watched the scene with great amusement, 
though the state that he was in prevented 
his hearing all that passed. But Lange 
was sobered in an instant, and at the 
check there rose in him a Tartar’s spirit 
and a pirate’s tongue. 

"I’ll show you yet, my fine young fool, 
he said between his teeth, to the depart- 


ii6 


A SURVIVAL 


ing figure, "that where you think you have 
a hold you’re likel)^ to slip up. God damn 
your impudence!" 

Porte-Chester lost no time in finding 
Catherine. The way her name had been 
profaned showed him conclusively that 
unprotected as she was, her position was 
insecure and dangerous. The morals of 
the set with which she was at present 
brought in contact, he knew too well, to 
readily believe she could long combat un- 
scathed their influence. Her every thought 
he held to be a pure one, and an innate 
shrewdness told him, that to such a one 
an utter degradation was vested only in 
the time required. When he thought of 
her associated with a bar-room infamy, he 
ground his teeth. He told himself, he’d 
have his answer this time and tolerate no 
evasion. 

He found her in a small deserted writ- 
ing-room, just sealing up some letters. 
He drew his chair to hers, making sure 
that no one was in hearing, and she read 
in his face a determination not to be 
avoided. 


OF THE FITTEST 


117 

“Catherine,” he said, “do you know 
what is in my heart?” 

“Come, sir,” she replied, and forced a 
smile, “you are as bad as novelists who 
are addicted to addressing their 'gentle 
readers.”’ 

"Listen," he said, and pressed her hand 
so hard it hurt. “Once there was a fel- 
low who had little left in life to ask for. 
Nothing was denied him, which he thought 
extremely proper, despite that other mor- 
tals did not fare so well. Presently on 
growing up he met a girl, and then it 
seemed to him, as though to signalize it, 
the world became more fragrant. He 
thought an unknown charm in life to 
every one but he, had been unearthed. 
This gem was reverential in his eyes, and 
moreover in the craving of it, he feared 
denial. In an agony he probed himself 
to judge if he could draw the prize, while 
in his mind there was an answer assuming 
every form, but that which he desired. 
But now the day is gone when he can bide 
his time. His mind is on the treasure, 
and he feels he must know all at once. 


ii8 


A SURVIVAL 


That jewel, Catherine, is yourself, and in 
me you see the spoiled young man who 
waits your verdict with more fear than 
hope. ’’ 

A short time previous to his entrance, 
Catherine had listened in a half-uncon- 
scious way, to a conversation being car- 
ried on outside the window, a little to 
the left, and where those who talked were 
unaware of her proximity. She recognized 
the voice of Mrs. Porte-Chester, and that 
of an acquaintance of the latter, arrived 
the night before. 

"Tell me," said the friend, "if this I 
hear of Joe’s infatuation for Miss Shirley 
is reliable or fact unfounded?" 

Catherine bit her lip, and waited the 
reply. 

Mrs. Porte-Chester cleared her throat. 
"It is the sheerest nonsense,” she averred. 
"My son is not available for such as she. 
A girl of irreligious principles, agnostic, 
infidel and all in one; a beggar, too. I hope 
that I too fully realize the stainless name 
I bear to permit an introduction such as 


OF THE FITTEST 


119 

that. Rest assured, my dear Edith, it’s 
simply chatter.” 

"But,” pursued her addressed as Edith, 
"I fancy that in Joe, should he so will it, 
you’ll find a bit of firmness, and you may 
be sure the girl will get him if she can.” 

“Joe has my every confidence, ” the moth' 
er answered, “and what is more, I know 
too well his keenness to think that he 
will fail to scent a fortune huntress, ” with 
which both rose, and passed from hearing. 

Catherine felt hot and cold by turns. 
The appellation given her had passed as 
chaff, save the last. The girl’s blood 
boiled. She a mere adventuress, a daugh- 
ter of the house of Shirley, who reared its 
head with name as clear as any? “For 
shame!” she thought, “let a mother’s war- 
fare carry her to any length, but calumny.” 
Somehow the occurrence weighed on her, 
and she felt a little lonesome ; a longing 
for the father who was gone, and the 
mother whom she had never seen. Slowly 
she tore a sheet of paper into bits, and 
likened it to life. One’s reputation may 
be whole, but contact with one’s so-called 


120 


A SURVIVAL 


friends who each extract a piece, soon 
leaves whatever^s left in tatters. 

And now she gazed at Joe intently. He 
really looked astonishingly well for him, 
so thought the girl, who liked an abso- 
lutely homely man or woman far better 
than the hundred thousand odd, in whom 
nature has displayed naught save inanity. 
All this she thought of as she balanced 
in her mind his words. 

“I am deeply honored with your love,” 
she said at last. "In every life are kept 
some souvenirs, if only to refresh the 
memory. In mine, Mr. Porte-Chester, the 
proposition that you have made me shall 
head the list, and I shall feel that what- 
ever be my fate, 1 have had at least the 
adoration free, and unconditioned, of one 
good man. Believe me, all this I realize, 
and it makes it the harder to say no. I 
trust I merit too well your regard to be- 
stow what I do not feel, or give you affec- 
tation in place of true affection.” She 
turned on him the turquoise of her eyes. 
"Come, cannot we be friends Joe?” 

The picture was so enticing that the 


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I2I 


man groaned inwardly. "Catherine," he 
said, hoarsely, "tell me, is it somo one else? 
If so ril be content. Otherwise you must 
reflect, for to me it means more than you 
can realize." 

"No,” she said a little sadly, laying her 
hand upon his arm with grave abandon, 
"to save us both great pain, you must at 
once transpose me from the place you wish, 
to that of a life-long friend." 

She started toward the door, then some- 
thing struck her, perhaps the worth of 
what she was declining, for she turned 
and joined the man sitting crushed and 
broken-hearted. Bending she kissed him 
on the forehead, very gently. 

Thus it happened, much to Mrs. Porte- 
Chester’s relief, that the journey of herself 
and Joe was again begun that night. The 
elder woman was too shrewd not to guess 
that something was amiss; but she laid it 
to a sudden tiring of her son for a girl 
whose traits, to speak with charity, left 
much room for improvement. Had it been 
suggested to her that he had met disaster. 


122 


A SURVIVAL 


she would have scoffed. Her son with 
millions, and a lineage in the bargain? 
Absurd! 


CHAPTER VIII 

March had made its little bow, gone 
through its evolutions, and now was pre- 
paring to take its leave, and still the char- 
acters with which these pages have to deal 
stayed on at Saint Gervaise. Since the 
departure of the Porte-Chesters, Catherine 
had to a great extent held Lange at arm’s 
length. She felt a twinge of conscience, 
and then she realized that he had for her 
a charm which both fascinated and re- 
pelled. Though her mind was seldom 
taken up with idle fancies, she could not 
regulate her thoughts in a direction oppo- 
site to him. So she held aloof, and Lange, 
perhaps from pique, renewed his court, 
though very guardedljq at the feet of Ger 
aldine. Miss Shirley had brought him a 
new sensation ; a feeling of respect, tinged 
slightly with that of awe. Heretofore his 
love-making had carried with it a shade 

123 


124 


A SURVIVAL 


cf brutalism. He argued that he who 
carries a citadel, must needs possess a 
small amount of feeling and a great store 
of audacity. But with Catherine he found 
that former charts in navigating were of 
little benefit on this occasion. The girl’s 
blue eyes had a way of turning from lim- 
pid to luminous, and from luminous to 
lurid, that quite deprived him of both wit 
and tongue. His return was warmly met 
by Geraldine half-way. She was an indi- 
vidual possessed of an elasticity of con- 
science that regards moral evolutions, 
under certain circumstances, as only na- 
tural. The fault was largely in her want of 
intellect ; the modern, brainless, shallow 
woman is never vicious, but is she ever 
strictly virtuous? 

The opportunities in which Porte-Ches- 
ter had secured a chance to push his woo- 
ing, had been so few, and thanks to his 
mother and to Lange, so often interrupted, 
that his departure, head-long though it 
was, caused small comment. Beyond a 
little idle curiosity, in which Miss Shir- 
ley’s name would broach itself, the mat- 


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125 


ter rested passive. Geraldine felt some 
regret, but being largely occupied with 
her own ^affairs, she did not probe her 
friend about the why and wherefore of 
it all. 

One lovely rhorning they were all assem- 
bled, though in a very puzzled state, for 
something with which to while the time, 
and which they hitherto had not exhausted. 
Mrs. Vanderslyce, her glass had told her, 
looked adorable in a bathing suit. A 
brilliant moment came to her. “Suppose 
we go in bathing!” she exclaimed. 

The men were filled with joy at her pro- 
posal, as also Catherine; but Mrs. Duck- 
worth inwardly was very wroth. She 
knew the folly of attempting to preserve 
her complexion in the water, and more- 
over that many years of hair dye had not 
conditioned the remaining tresses for sea- 
bathing. Then, too, her horror of the surf 
knew no bounds, and these facts com- 
bined, hardly gave her any undue love of 
this particular recreation. 

“The fiend!” she thought of Geraldine, 
“I am absolutely confident she knows of 


126 


A SUJ^VIVAL 


my complexion, and the way I bleach 
my hair. How Td like to strangle her!" 
What she said to Mrs. Vanderslyce was, 
"You darling, were it not for you we would 
vegetate with a doubt. I think your 
scheme delightful.” 

So it was an hour later that they found 
themselves enjoying, with one exception, 
the sea^s embrace. The beach was per- 
fect, and the water of a temperature that 
made one marvel that we were not all 
created mermaids. Catherine and Lange 
were out far beyond the others. Her dress 
was brown, which brought her face and 
hair in striking prominence. Her bust 
made like a statue, was heaving with the 
unaccustomed effort, while her hips dis- 
played a movement lithe and graceful as 
a tigress. Her feet and ankles were in- 
deed almost too slender to support her 
limbs of noble * proportions. When she 
walked there was the undulating move- 
ment of the Nautch girl, and when she 
stood, the bearing of a goddess in repose. 

"Why is it that you treat me with such 
coldness?" Lange asked of her. Between 


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127 


the swells she replied, “What I should 
like to know in turn is, why my treatment 
of you beyond the merest common-place 
politeness should be of any moment?” 

“You evade the question. Last even- 
ing as we passed you spoke as though the 
effort it required was nothing short of 
weariness,” he rejoined. 

“Yes. Well, I can’t say that it impressed 
me that way. In point of fact it did not 
impress me in the least.” 

“Sometimes I think,” he said at length, 
“that the incongruity of woman will drive 
me to despair — or China. Take yourself 
for instance. When I met you, I thought 
my visit to America was well repaid. You 
were kind, and I was transported. Later 
you evinced a little interest, and 1 thought 
it worth three trips around the world ; and 
then, behold, you suddenly reverse your 
attitude and show me how enchantingly 
reserved you can become. Tell me how I 
may charm into returning those former 
moods?” 

She smiled enigmatically. “I’m afraid 
you little know us even with your years.” 


128 


A SURVIVAL 


“Have you ever been in Russia?” he 
said after a pause. 

“Yes, half a dozen years ago.” 

“Well, I love the country. There is 
about it a despotism, a sway of cruelty 
that strikes in me a note of similarity, and 
gives me that acrid pleasure one has in 
biting an aching tooth. Not that Pd have 
you understand that I possess such traits; 
for all that, an unworthy appreciation does 
exist within me. Still, I never feel quite 
so content, or quite so interested as when 
Pm there. In consequence, I go as often 
as a good excuse appears, and also in con- 
sequence, I have tasted every rigor of 
which their climate boasts. I have felt 
such cold that when the air which one 
enhaled struck down, it reached one’s very 
heart. But never have I met a chill which 
equals in intensity your glance when Pve 
offended, which I am sure I must have 
done. ” 

The girl who had been wondering what 
his speech was leading up to, and who 
all the while was waging combat with the 
charm his voice contained, endeavored to 


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129 


secrete her feelings behind an air of bore- 
dom. 

“We are dealing too entirely in person- 
alities, ” she said. 

A wave just then swept her into his arms, 
and swept away his reason. He pressed 
her to him. Ah, that form, redolent with 
life, its every fibre unfettered and pulsat- 
ing in his close embrace. He sought her 
lovely neck and reddened it with kisses 
in his ecstacy. 

“Let me go!" she said, hoarsely. 

His brain was in a whirl. He wished 
that some wave, king of all its predeces- 
sors, would come and sweep them down. 
Down to a cavern where all was chaos, 
and afterward from there into a blackness 
that would be unending. 

The girl struggled and freed herself. 
“You must be mad," she said, contemptu- 
ously, as followed by the man she swam 
for shore. 

Very much farther in, Mrs. Duckworth 
was making a tremendous stir. The chiv- 
alrous lieutenant had volunteered to save 

her from all mishaps, or a watery grave. 

9 


130 


A SURVIVAL 


He found before the lapse of many min- 
utes, that his bargain was boundless in its 
possibilities. She insisted clinging to 
him spasmodically in four feet of water, 
while each succeeding billow that came 
rolling in, seemed to her astonished part- 
ner’s view to add to Belle’s age, at least 
a year. Nor was she herself quite igno- 
rant of the fact, and in her rising wrath 
she cut against Geraldine, her mental 
tomahawk completely full of notches. 

Lange joined Mrs. Vanderslyce, whose 
husband was ungallantly hunting shells, 
and they started out for deeper water. It 
was clear that his incident with Catherine 
had escaped her eyes, as well as those of 
all the rest. 

“Listen,” she said when they were out 
of hearing, “I have an inspiration. The 
season is over here, and beside New 
York by this time must be habitable. Now, 
why cannot all of us go North by water, 
and on your boat?” 

He thought a moment. “That’s a very 
clever scheme,” he said, “and I had also 
thought of something very like it. Pro- 


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131 

viding you can arrange the details, rest 
assured I’ll have the yacht in readiness. 
I purpose leaving for the other side almost 
directly afterward. ’’ 

Her lips quivered. “I had hoped,” she 
said a little tremulously, “that you would 
alter your decision. We go to Olciport 
for the summer, and you know quite well 
what your absence means to me.” 

He thought the woman was incorrigi- 
ble. "Now listen, Jerry,” he said, a firm- 
ness in his vjpice;“you know I love you 
very much, and I’m sure that had we never 
met, in both our lives would have re- 
mained a little blank unfilled. But now 
you know we are friends of such long 
standing that I think you will agree we 
can exist without continually being in each 
other’s arms. You must realize that un- 
derneath our feet there is a mine of pow- 
der in the shape of Vanderslyce. Let us 
once commit ourselves, and I know good 
natured people well enough to realize 
the force of the explosion. For your sake, 
far more than mine, we must be discreet. 
Reflect on this, and you will see that I am 


132 


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right. Come,” squeezing her hand be- 
neath the water, “suppose that we return, 
and please don’t look so gloomy.” 

Presently, having tired of the sport, 
they all emerged in more or less good 
looking states of preservation. Two hours 
later Mrs. Duckworth strolled .down the 
veranda, in appearance, pretty as the pro- 
verbial peach. She felt again her confi- 
dence of old, and waxed a little humorous. 
“I am more than glad,” she laughingly 
declared, “to be once more on vica-versa. ” 

When Lange’s invitation was extended, 
they one and all needed very little press- 
ing to accept. The day succeeding the 
morrow was stipulated or the start. Cath- 
erine felt within her at first, a vague sense 
of apprehension ; that sinking of the heart 
that visits those when unforeseen events 
approach within a scenting distance. Al- 
though no one has lived and failed to 
have it at some epoch in their days, few 
indeed take heed, or realize that in it 
Fate is waving a red signal. Thus, and 
in despite of her undefined alarm, she ac- 
quiesced, and being amorous of the sea she 


OP 7HE FITTEST 


133 

looked with sparkling eyes upon the pro- 
ject. 

That afternoon, the Duryers, who had 
just returned from Cuba, and who were 
to leave that evening for the North, ela- 
borated on the merits of their trip. 

The Parliamentary member said, “The 
land is taxed outrageousl}’, and the people 
are oppressed and robbed. The Spanish 
government takes all, and gives them in 
return a military discipline far worse than 
ours in India. I met the governor-gen- 
eral, a very clever man, and one possessed 
of brains; and yet he asked me why he had 
such difficult)^ suppressing insurrections. 
The effect and cause of all this is, that 
the natives are an indolent and effete lot, 
who back the L'ttery, smoke, and drink 
Cognac with unc casing regularity. Im- 
agine if you can, the city of Havana, whose 
chief merit is its military band. Short 
of the mother country, or the Orient,! have 
never seen such utter want of spirit or vi- 
tality. Were the taxes only moderate, 
one of, to use a term, your Yankee hust- 
lers might emigrate, and for all the oppo- 


134 


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sition he would meet, could shortly own 
the town and have a mortgage on the Is- 
land.” 

Miss Duryer said^ “Now, papa, you are 
unjust in some respects^ I think those 
languid-moving Cubans are ideals. Their 
eyes are black, and glitter as though they 
were submerged in varnish, and their clothes 
— more picturesque than you can fancy 
in a country only thirty hours from the 
States. We saw a bull-fight, the first one 
after Lent, and I thought I should expire 
with excitement. They killed four of the 
brutes, and one of the horses was so seri- 
ously injured that they had to shoot him. 
The Torreador that I bet on broke his leg, 
just fancy! One visit to the theatre was 
quite sufficient for us all. They talked 
the native language, and at a most terrif- 
ic rate. We laughed when it was inap- 
propriate, and failed to see their comic 
points, excepting when they asked an en- 
core of the scenes they liked the best ; im- 
agine killing people more than once, or 
forcing Hamlet’s ghost to reappear.” 

Miss Lily Duryer lisped, ‘T Couldn’t 


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use my French at all, and papa with his 
German fared no better. I could have pur- 
chased any quantity of stuff for almost 
nothing, only that the Custom House 
maintains its dignity, by turning one’s 
effects completely upside down. The Cu- 
ban women powder until no trace of their 
entrancing olive ^kin remains, but other- 
wise the pictures that cigar-boxes accord 
them, with high-heeled shoes, black hair, 
and lace mantillas are perfectly correct. 
In front of our hotel, and at the Sunday 
dress parade, I counted twenty privates who 
arrived quite late, two-thirds of them in 
street coupes. I should have liked to 
photograph them for my brother’s barracks, 
the fourteenth Lancers,. Queen’s Own, 
don’t you know. " 

In the evening Mrs. Vanderslyce walked 
arm-in-arm with Catherine. 

"Tell me dear,” the latter said, "why 
your conduct toward me changed so much 
after my arrival? Why you were so cold 
and distant, and why you now are again 
to me 3'our old sweet self?" 

Geraldine felt remorseful, and she 


136 


A SURVIVAL 


pressed the other^s arm. “My dear Cathy, ’’ 
she replied, “you must blame it solely to 
my health. You know I have those par- 
oxysms, when my brain feels all on fire, 
and Pm like the bear whose head was sore. 
You are now my dearest friend, and it 
would break my heart to lose your love.” 

They paced about the courtyard with 
eyes fixed on the crescent moon, just then 
dimly making known itself; its first rays in 
the twilight shown timidly, as though it 
felt a little insecure of its reception. The 
southern sky had turned a shade of blue 
that darkened visibly when nearing the 
horizon. 

“Catherine,” said Mrs. Vanderslyce, 
“you won’t feel hurt at my advising you?” 

“Most certainly I shan’t, my little moth- 
er, who have I more fitting to receive it 
from?” And the girl laughed in her mod- 
ulating tones. 

“Well, I do not like to see you intimate 
with Mr. Lange. He is a very charming 
man, I know, and a great friend of my 
husband’s and myself. But he is mar- 
ried, though separated from his wife, and 


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to a girl in your position, attention from 
him creates, not only great comment, but 
eventually great harm. Do I make my- 
self quite clear?” 

“Perfectly. But, Geraldine, I do assure 
you that the blame is wholly his. When 
I can do it and still keep within the 
bounds of courtesy, I invariably avoid 
him. ” 

Mrs. Vanderslyce was silent. Her mind 
was full of bitterness against the man. She 
recalled his zeal when he first had known 
her, and how with her affection once ob- 
tained, he swore that all the love he had 
within him, should be hers. And now 
the short lapse of a had made her the 
suitor, with all the passion on her side; 
his wandering regard bestowed on any 
newcomer. She had in the falsity of 
women, reached an age when a sponge 
emersed in vinegar was offered her to 
drink, when scorn succeeded ardor. 

On the day of their departure they as- 
sembled on the quay, and waved adieu 
to Saint Gervaise. Mrs. Duckworth stated 
that having visited the South four times 


A SURVIVAL 


she thought this one assuredl}^ the pleas- 
antest of all. Quack fell in line, by vol- 
unteering that in this, as in all things, her 
opinion was his own. Geraldine looked 
on it with feelings mixed, though all in 
all, she thought it very charming. Her 
husband summed it up with the addition 
of his favorite expletive, by agreeing with 
the rest. 

To Catherine, her memory dwelt with 
pleasure on each moment. In her youth, 
though having traveled far and near, 
in the most luxurious of manner, this rest 
after months of voluntar}^ labor was by 
odds the sweetest, and as she turned her 
eyes back On the town, receiving from the 
early morning sun its coat of gold, it seemed 
to her more beautiful than anything she 
had seen abroad. 

The boat conveyed the party to the 
yacht with little loss of time. The Ven- 
dovie was as fresh as water, paint, and 
sand-stone could produce. Her appara- 
tuses of brass were glittering, as though 
but recently re-cast. For their reception 
a companion-way with silver balustrade, 


OP THE FITTEST 


13^ 

was lowered, while on its topmost step 
was Lange. His captain, with white hair 
and head uncovered, stood beside him bow- 
ing. As they approached, Lange doffed 
his hat and smiled. 

"Let me welcome you,’* he said, "to my 
Castle. Behold in me a war lord of medi- 
aeval times, and one who on this craft is 
not restricted in his words or actions by 
the canons of society.” 

Later on he verified his utterance. 


CHAPTER IX 


The Vendoine was speeding on her course, 
pushing her way through the waste of 
water, and leaving a long sweep of unrip- 
pled liquid, in her wake. The weather 
was perfect since their embarkation, and 
the light, balmy breezes, the first of ApriPs 
breath, brought new life and interest to 
all the party. As an elixir, salt air is yet 
to be excelled, and its peculiar quality 
made them feel on rising as vigorous as 
when retiring the night before. The at- 
mosphere was slightly dense with smoke, 
which made the distance from the land 
seem greater, and at times they were com- 
pletely lost from terra firmd's view. Every 
preparation had been made, and that, 
too, on a yacht where, in so far as space 
permitted, the conveniences of an ocean- 
liner had been introduced. Their host 
had, Leicester-like, regarded every detail, 

140 


OF THE FITTEST 


141 

and provided men enough to give to every 
guest, if so desired, a personal attendant. 

Eas}^ wickers had been arranged aft this 
morning, under the awnings, and most of 
the party were amusing themselves in di- 
vers ways. The sun was warm, and the 
distant pounding of the screw, together 
with the water’s swish, induced despite 
the breeze, a drowsiness in all. In con- 
sequence, conversation went by fits and 
starts. 

“What was that?" asked Miss Shirley, 
quickly rising. 

It was evident that the others had heard 
the libise, as they also hurried to the rail- 
ing. 

“A shark on the starboard side!" shouted 
the lookout. 

“It is for a fact," said Willie, hurriedly 
taking out his constant traveling compan- 
ions, and through them scanning the mon- 
ster. 

Then Lange began relating some stories 
of the traditions that were historical among 
mariners, and how decidedly they dreaded 
the sight of that fish; using every effort 


142 


A SURVIVAL 


possible to insure its departure from their 
course. "But for my part, ’’ he concluded, 
"I think it means, instead of the foreshad- 
owing of a death, an appetite that bears of 
no denial. ’’ 

"Isn’t it horrible,” said Mrs. Duckworth, 
trembling in fear at Lange’s uncanny tales. 
"You don’t think it can jump, do you? 
My fear of snakes amounts almost to a 
mania,” and she shuddered convulsively. 

"Why! it is leaving; see it has turned 
away,” and Mrs. Vanderslyce pointed at 
the receding object with her book. 

"I say. Quack,” said Willie excitedly, 
"let’s give him a bullet or two; great 
sport I can tell you. I’ve often tried it 
when yachting with Sir Barclay Plate.” 

One of the crew hurried to execute the 
order, and within a few seconds Vander- 
slyce was ‘loading a Winchester. 

"Raise it a little higher,” said Quack. 
"So, now pepper away. Ah, that is good,” 
and then they all fell to laughing, for the 
shot had gone some distance to the other 
side. 

Vanderslyce attributed his poor marks- 


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manship to the rolling of the boat and 
after reloading he again took aim. “I will 
fetch him this time,” he said, and in order 
to get a better range he stepped across 
the guard-rail. "By Gad! I believe the 
brute is coming after us again.” 

His last words were lost in the noise of 
the gun. Then the women began to scream 
from fright, as Willie had disappeared. 
In truth he had dropped into the water 
below, his gun having unexpectedly 
"kicked” and precipitated his fall. The 
signal for stopping, and the following of 
the order took but a moment, and then a 
gang of men were lowering away a life- 
boat. 

"Oh, isn’t this awful,” moaned Mrs. 
Duckworth. "The shark is coming ; I de- 
clare it is gaining on him. Hurry! Hurry !” 
she shouted to the men, as she ^an back 
and forth across the deck, and got in every- 
body’s way, as nervous women always do. 

Geraldine stood motionless, watching 
her husband’s efforts in the water, the 
shark’s rapid progress, and the apparent 
slowness of the rescuing crew. The en- 


144 


A SURVIVAL 


gine had been brought to a stop at once, but 
the yacht made a forward movement for 
some minutes afterward, so that Vander- 
slyce was now considerably in the rear. 

"Pull! Pull!" exhorted Lange, and he 
hastened to give orders for the yacht to be 
backed, so as to render every aid within 
their power. 

All this while, the poor man was mak- 
ing frantic struggles to out-swim the mon- 
ter, but on turning to look, he always 
found it nearer. The shark was rapidly 
lessening the distance, and the boat was 
yet considerably beyond his reach. 

It seemed to Geraldine as though her 
husband had been hours in the water, and 
as though her mind had in that time lived 
over every moment of their married life. 
She recalled his kindness to her. Every 
wish of hers anticipated, every comfort, 
every luxury, for her obtained, and how 
each action had met favor in his eyes with 
an unquestioned confidence. Her heart 
was eaten by remorse, and she felt she 
could not live with such a gnawing. Then 
^gain she thought of Lange, and of the 


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passion that consumed her for him. The 
barrier that separated her from being 
wholly his, was now within the very jaws 
of death, and should he meet this fate, 
the obstruction to their happiness would 
be but slight. Then something told her 
of her utter worthlessness,* and how illy 
she deserved her husband’s love. She felt 
a nausea for her own abasement, and a 
returning hope that Willie’s life might be 
prolonged. A desperation took posses- 
sion of her. “Oh, for the love of heaven!” 
she shrieked, “don’t leave him to such a 
fate. Do you hear, Lange? I can see the 
monster’s gleaming teeth. Swim! Swim!” 
she called ; but the wind took up her cry 
and wafted it in an opposite direction. 
She turned an ashy paleness and. sank life- 
less on a chair. 

“Keep up courage," said Catherine com- 
ing to her friend’s side; but Mrs. Vander- 
slyce had fainted. 

“I knew something dreadful would oc- 
cur. I was absolutely certain, for I broke 
my hand-glass, this morning,” put in the 
irrepressible Duckworth. 


146 


A SURVIVAL 


"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed Lange, "that man 
is surely lost." 

Every eye was strained toward the now 
fast closing tragedy. Vanderslyce was 
evidently becoming exhausted, and the 
shark had nearly reached him. 

"Only one chance is left," said Quack 
desperately, as he seized his repeating 
rifle laying upon the deck, as yet unused. 
A quick report followed, but the shark still 
seemed unhit; then another crack and after 
several struggles in which it showed its 
body, long and lithe, it disappeared from 
view. Then the boat reached Vanderslyce, 
who was quite collapsed by this time. 

"Saved!" And Catherine fanned her 
friend’s face. "Do you hear, Jerry ? Your 
husband is saved. " But Mrs. Vanderslyce 
only murmured in the unconscious man- 
ner of one recovering from a faint. 

"Thank the gods!" said Lange fervently. 
"I would rather have lost my own life than 
his under such circumstances," and then 
he flushed heartily when he saw that Cath- 
erine had overheard his words. "Old 
man," he continued, slapping the lieu- 


OF THE FITTEST 


147 


tenant boyishly on the back, “you are a 
hero, by Jove, you are! Why I wouldn’t 
have thought that such a bundle of nerves 
as you are, could have hit the far-famed 
barn-door; a water-shot too.” And he 
wrung his friend’s hand. 

“Yes,indeed, "said Mrs. Duckworth com- 
ing up, “you deserve to be decorated. What 
a noise the firing made; I confess I really 
screamed the second time. Wasn’t it 
hideous.” And she gave a most effective 
shudder. “I want you to do me a favor," 
she continued, holding out her hand, and 
smiling coquettishly. “Will you?" And 
she looked up into his eyes. 

Quack moved nervously. He feared 
women, knowing their power over him, 
and it was now beyond a question that Mrs. 
Duckworth intended taking him in tow. 
“Why — why, yes, ” he answered hesitating- 
ly, half inclined to draw his hand away. 

“Oh, you needn’t feel afraid, oh dear, no. 
It is nothing more than to add your name 
to my already distinguished list of auto- 
graphs. Yes, an album. Quite as bad as 
a school-girl, am I not? But I only sup- 


148 


A SURVIVAL 


plicate for names who either are, or will be 
somebody. I have every one from Mr. 
Faster the cotillion-leader, and Edison the 
electrician, to H. R. H. the Prince of Pa- 
tience. ” 

"Immortal names, most certainly, ’ Quack 
rejoined, and then he left to recuperate 
his shattered forces. 

Late that afternoon they viewed the sun- 
set, which went to rest this night, in anger 
that was evident. The captain pulled his 
beard and watched it narrowly. Before it 
altogether disappeared, it banished in a 
measure, the cloud from off its face, and 
its rays shown like a bursting rocket. 

"How grand,” said Catherine in a ton§ 
of admiration as she pointed to it. 

"Just lovely, ’ answered Mrs. Duckworth, 
as she gave the scene a careless glance, 
"but do look at Spatts, ” and she stooped 
down to pat him. "You are the cunning- 
est of dogs. Do tell me, Jerry,” she said 
taking the canine in her arms, "how you 
ever came to dub him with that name?” 

"Why Willie gave him to me last year 
in London,” answered Mrs. Vanderslyce, 


OF THE FITTEST 


149 


as she watched her pet, "'and Mr. Lange 
christened him. He says the dog is as 
good as over-gaiters, as he insists on lay- 
ing curled up, around my feet.” 

"You lazy brute," said Lange, pulling 
the spaniel’s ears. 

The steward then announced the dinner. 
The little dining-room was in a blaze of 
light, and flowers kept fresh by some un- 
known means were in profusion. Lange’s 
chef maintained his prestige, and endeared 
himself to all. Mrs. Duckworth vowed a 
a secret vow that she would have that 
chefy as eating was the little woman’s 
greatest passion, providing everything she 
ate was out of season. Larkins was as im- 
maculate and deft as ever, but twice dur- 
ing the meal, Lange caught his look fixed 
on him, as of old. "Why didn’t I rid 
myself of the fellow?” thought the yacht- 
man, "and let him do the tragical with 
some one else?” He was troubled and 
perhaps he showed it, for he did not catch 
the glance again. 

The days were growing longer, and 
the company took advantage of the gloam- 


150 


A SURVIVAL 


ing, after dinner to spend the time on 
deck ; but as the shadows deepened, they 
one by one disappeared. Willie, who 
was recovering from his cold, and unex- 
pected bath of the morning, was engaged 
in the mysteries of some new found 
sea plant. Geraldine claimed a head- 
ache, and Mrs. Duckworth said she was 
entirely too nervous after the forenoon’s 
shock, to remain up longer. Quack took 
advantage of his newly acquired popular- 
ity, to introduce his taste to some wondrous 
brands, over whose vintage the steward dis- 
played much pride ; so that only Lange 
and Catherine remained. They prome- 
naded up and down, with now and then a 
stop, to argue as to the identity of some 
unfamiliar star. Catherine wrapped in a 
fur cape, had her yachting cap set well 
forward, which veiled her eyes, while Lange 
was enveloped in an ulster that reached his 
boots, with a fore-and-aft, that matched 
in shade. 

"You are amused,” he said, with an in- 
stinct he possessed of divining other peo- 
ple’s thoughts. 


OF THE FITTEST 


151 

“Yes? And how, pray, do you know?” 

“I saw your face distinctl}'. ” 

“Then it must express my thoughts, or 
else I talk with my eyes, for I was amused, 
and at a remark Mr. Vanderslyce made at 
dinner. You remember, he said his wife 
was not domestic, and it called to my mind 
an incident which Geraldine and I shared 
before she met him. We were visionary, 
like ail young girls, and at her instigation 
we visited a fortune-teller.” 

“One of those unmitigated frauds?” 

“Precisely. The woman predicted for 
Geraldine a husband of moderate means, 
and many cherubs to cluster around her 
knee. A domestic life of unalloyed se- 
renity, and a maturity of three score years 
and ten. The remembrance of that is 
what amused me. ” 

“And her prediction of yourself?” he 
asked, as they stopped and leaned against 
the rail, with eyes intent on the water surg- 
ing by. 

“It was really ridiculous, and I think 
the woman purposely endeavored to an- 
noy me, seeing that I was incredulous 




152 


A SURVIVAL 


from the first. According to her predic- 
tion, or rather her interpretation of the lines 
on my hand, I was to have a life, if pos- 
sible more uneventful than Jerry’s. She 
hinted directly at single blessedness, to- 
gether with obscurity from all excitement, 
and the joys of life.” 

"From your voice I judge this disap- 
pointed you, and yet it coincides with 
what you’ve said before. Do you not re- 
member the sylvan dells where nothing 
rivaled nature? Where cattle broused, 
and the birds, you thought, must burst 
their throats, from the fullness of their 
song? All that you’ve said you loved, 
quite often." 

"True, but I also said it must be tem- 
pered with excitement; for the even life 
that some lead, would to me be torture 
in the extreme. Yet despite one's long- 
ings, it seems we all drift through our 
little spheres, arriving at our destinations, 
before we fully realize that we are started, 
much less attain the aims that our ambi- 
tions have suggested.” 

"And then the awakening, to a lover of 


OF THE FITTEST 


153 


this world,” Lange rejoined; "or rather, 
fancy the retiring.” 

The boat gave an unsteady lurch, so he 
offered his arm, and they once more trav- 
ersed the deck in silence. 

“How odd,” said Catherine some time 
later as they were about to turn aft. “Do 
you notice the stars near the moon ^ With 
indeed, a little stretch of one’s vision, you 
can see a perfect crest,” and in space she 
drew a line with her finger. 

“You are interested in heraldry, I per- 
ceive,” he said. 

“I? Yes somewhat. I love a well traced 
name, even though some antecedents would 
appear to more advantage, had they never 
been recorded.” 

“Vanity, vanity,” he laughed. “I say. 
Miss Shirley, I didn’t suppose that you 
were such a staunch republican.” 

“I don’t think that I am; beside, if I 
had no other excuse for it, my love of 
Shakespeare would make it only natural. 
I know that I used to have the advantage 
of my tutor, on that account. I remem- 
ber once, that dear old Dr. Baggs was 


54 


A SURVIVAL 


furious, because I said that the sun referred 
to in the opening passage of Richard’s 
soliloquy, had reference to his shield ; for 
as you know, Edward IV. assumed a 
badge with a white rose placed within a 
sun. Are you not fond of prose and po- 
etry?” 

“Yes, and then again sometimes, I think 
I am not. But in any event they both are 
becoming obsolete, despite what is said 
to the contrary. ” 

His companion looked a little bit an- 
noyed at the suggestion, but held her 
peace. 

Time passed,and he was glad they found 
but little to converse about, as it gave him 
many opportunities to watch her closely. 
When finally they reached the wicker 
chairs, still unremoved, Catherine felt her- 
self being drawn down to his side. Had 
miles separated them from their compan- 
ions, they could not have been more iso- 
lated. She recalled the sea, and his mad 
embrace, the admonition Geraldine had 
offered, the avoidance she herself had 
claimed she gave him, and within her 


OF THE FITTEST 


155 


there grew a half formulated desire to es- 
cape. Blended with it, was a happiness 
at being with him thus alone. Internally 
there raged a battle, and Catherine no 
more than mortal, yielded and stayed on. 

"And,” he asked at length, "how will 
you spend your time when we reach our 
destination? Like all your sex in New 
York, have you any fad, which solely oc- 
cupies your waking hours?” 

"I am an artist by profession,” the girl 
said quietly. 

“Ah, I am sorry for that. My acquaint- 
ance with the Bohemian set of London, 
showed me many times conclusively, that 
in your brush you have a crumbling main- 
stay. In other words you are at the mercy 
of fickle public, who admire to-day, and 
condemn to morrow. For, as surely as 
success, just as surely its reverse. No 
one has gained a triumph in the arts, but 
that they have had an ultimate fall ; es- 
pecially when the former comes with early 
unexpectedness. ” 

His listener said nothing, a-s if expect- 
ing him to continue. To those in love, 


A SURVIVAL 


156 

transition from conventionalities to burn- 
ing words presents no difficulty, or if there 
be, it is in the avoidance of passion^s un- 
anticipated onslaught. 

“Catherine, ’’ she felt the word whispered 
in her ear, “there is no need for me to tell 
3'ou that I am a man of the world and like 
one of that kind, I am more or less bat- 
tered. I don’t talk sentiment, for I am 
past that age, though I do not wish you 
to account me in the ranks of the blasi 
But a man of thirty-twd is knocked into 
cold, blunt reason. Catherine,! love you, 
plainly, simply, and with all the force 
that nature can giVe. ” 

“You forget 3'ourself,’’ she said quite 
coldly, her anger thoroughly in check. 
“There is but one solution to your words. 
Bound already, and coming in the way it ' 
does, to one so totally alone as I, makes 
you nothing short of what j^ou represent 
— a cur.” 

“No, Catherine,” and he leaned closely 
to her, “even though I am mad for your * 
love, I am not dumb to duty or forgetful of 
my place toward you here. All that I can 


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157 


say that will extenuate my action, is that 
your beauty has undone my strength. I can 
offer you everything, propiise you almost 
anything that a woman can wish for. It 
is true I am bound to my wife, whose de- 
votion to Catholicism makes a divorce 
impossible. I have no name to offer,” 
sadly, “but I would set you on a plane, 
where a life’s idolatry, if effort on my part 
could make it possible, would compensate 
you for a want of legal standing.” 

His last word flashed upon the girl like 
the explosion of a shell. She staggered 
to her feet, one hand pushing back her 
chair, while the other grasped the rail for 
support. She saw it all distinctly now, 
and how she had unconsciously dwelt on 
this moment, and deceived herself into 
the hope that should it ever come, he would 
say he could annul his marriage. The 
disclosure was a cruel reality, which she 
had only too quickly comprehended. She 
replied in a choked, suffocated voice. 

“How cruel you are. You have me here 
a prisoner. Has your perception taught 
you so little that you think it impossible to 


158 


A SURVIVAL 


wound a woman’s sensibilities?” and she 
made as though she would leave him. 

“Catherine,” he called, and caught her 
by the arm, “listen, I am not the brute 
you think me. I love you, and I think 
that despite j^our words, your attitude, 
you care for me. Do you not imagine that 
I suffer to think of your battle for a liveli- 
hood? with no one to smooth the edges 
of a life, which at its best, is but a poor one? 
From your own words I had hoped that, 
perhaps — perhaps, you would not feel this 
as insulting.” His voice was deep and 
earnest. 

“What you have said, Mr. Lange, is 
passed and gone,” the girl returned, once 
more possessed of her composure, “and 
I forget it. In the future let this subject 
be of the past. Perhaps some bold opin- 
ions which I have expressed, gave you a 
provocation. But you must know that I 
govern myself by a sort of moral law, self- 
conceived, but rigid. Good-night.” 

“And after all,” he thought as he paced 
the deck alone in the darkness, “after all 
we are denied our greatest wish. Let us 


OF THE FITTEST 


159 


work, slave, and die, our fondest hope will 
onl}^ flit before us. It will urge us on, 
and jeer that we had thought we had be- 
fore obtained our strongest craving; but 
it will never come quite close enough for 
us to grasp it, or to kiss its lips,” with 
which opinion he retired to his room, the 
door of which he left unlocked. 


CHAPTER X 


The succeeding morning was very threat- 
ening, and Lange found on his hands, but 
few guests to entertain. Mrs. Vanderslyce 
did not appear at all, and Catherine also 
failed to show herself. Mrs Duckworth, 
however, answered to the role, as well as 
Quack and Vanderslyce. At noon the boat 
arrived at Charleston and did not get away 
until late in the afternoon. 

Pomone, in Mrs. Vanderslyce’s room, 
was having not the pleasantest of times. 
Her mistress had declared she would not 
rise at all, and that in consequence, she 
wished the maid to stay exclusively with 
her. Early in the day her appetite for 
stimulants had shown itself again, and 
though she drank more sparingly, Pomone 
was calculating on an unusually prolonged 
debauch. Nevertheless, as afternoon ap- 
proached, Geraldine had ceased her po- 


OF THE FITTEST 


i6i 


tions, and in consequence she tossed about, 
distrait, and feverish. She felt a little bit 
alarmed about herself, and the palpitating 
of her heart, which had returned, and 
which she knew so well. 

About two hours after noon Pomone ap 
peared at Catherine’s door and stated that 
her mistress was not well, and craved Miss 
Shirley’s company. The latter found Ger- 
aldine looking very ill. 

“My dear,” said Mrs. Vanderslyce 
stretching out a trembling hand, "how 
good of you to come. Do I look as 
though Pm sea-sick?” and she smiled a 
little wanly. 

Catherine seated herself, and regarded 
her friend closely. She could not help 
but note the ravages the other woman’s 
face expressed. Below the eyes were faint 
lines of darkish blue, while about her was 
a languor that betokened vitality sustained 
with difficulty. 

“Suppose we don’t talk about myself,” 
continued Geraldine. “It reminds me of 
how ill I feel. Tell me what your plans 
are when you return to work?” 

It 


A SURVIVAL 


162 


"Oh, I haven’t formulated them as yet,” 
the girl returned a little aimlessly. "Tve 
enjoyed so much the pleasure that you 
have given me, that I did not like to think 
of going back to work, until the time ar- 
rived. There is nothing else for me to do, 
however, but continue with my painting.” 

"Well, then, ” said Geraldine, "I think 
that I can aid you very much, as I know 
any quantity of people in town, who will 
buy on my recommendation. So give your- 
self no worry, dear. I’ll have you with a 
steady income yet. Ah, that pain ! Quick, 
Pomone, some Cognac!” The last words 
were attended by a contraction of her fea- 
tures, which alarmed Miss Shirley. 

Rising and leaning over, she said. "Lis- 
ten, Jerry ; you are not well by any means, 
now take some medicine and stop that 
brandy; and better still, let me call your 
husband. He thinks you merely have a 
headache. ” 

"No, no, not that, don’t call him. I for- 
bid it! It’s only that I am a little out of 
sorts. Pomone knows that; she has seen 
me this way often haven’t you, my girl?” 


OF THE FITTEST 163 

‘Verie often, Madame. Ze trouble eez 
merely for to day.” 

Catherine caught her friend’s hand lying 
on the coverlet. “How good you are to 
me,” she said, "and I am, indeed, most 
grateful. That is why I am alarmed about 
you. ” 

Geraldine,however,seemed much better. 
“Sit down,” she said, "I am easier now, 
and I will take some medicine, if only just 
to please you. Pomone, prepare my dose,” 
with which the maid complied, shrugging 
her graceful shoulders imperceptibly. 

At last Geraldine spoke, her voice very 
low. “Catherine,” she said, “have 3^ou 
ever felt remorse at any action that is 
past reclaiming? Then determined in 
the future, that certain things should be 
avoided, and in the end breaking down 
the good resolves, and committing over 
again the fault that caused the troubled 
feeling?” 

Catherine laughed. “Now Jerry,” she 
said, “fancy yourself doing anything so 
very terrible, as to cause such a gloomy 
question.” 


164 


A SURVIVAL 


“Nevertheless, I mean it. I am a very 
ungrateful woman, and the pain here at my 
heart does not cause me half the distress 
of certain actions that cannot now be un- 
done.” 

Miss Shirley would hear none of it. 
What nonsense that as kind an one as 
Geraldine, should be a victim to her 
conscience. 

The afternoon grew on apace, and still 
the women hand-in-hand talked on. At 
length, unclasping hers, Geraldine seemed 
to fall asleep, and her companion, owing to 
the hot air of the state-room, before she 
knew it, dozed away herself. When she 
awoke it was quite dark and Pomone was 
just entering, lamp in hand, which she 
placed within its bracket, and then turned 
toward her mistress, intent on drawing up 
the covering about her. A moment later 
she wheeled about, and shrieked at Cath- 
erine: — 

“Madame Vanderslyce eez dead! Quick! 
feel for her heart!” 

Catherine sprang forward, and tearing 
the woman’s gown apart, she placed hej: 


OF THE FITTEST 


165 

6ar above it. Not a beat, nor yet a move- 
ment of the body, heart, or pulse. The 
girl strained her ears, and failed to catch 
the faintest echo. 

Mrs. William Seagrave Vanderslyce had 
gone to her reward, that was beyond a 
question. She had lived her little life, 
filled with passion, vanity, hate, and affec- 
tion, and now she slept for good, and all. 
A heart weakened by excesses, and a con- 
stitution undermined, had made death’s 
work absurdly easy, and her few faint 
gasps imperceptible to the sleeping Cath- 
erine. She may have suffered, or may not ; 
this much Miss Shirley and the maid dis- 
covered; that v/hen they tried to force some 
liquor down her throat, hoping to revive 
the woman, they found her tongue clinched 
hard between her little even teeth. Cath- 
erine never under any circumstances 
shrieked, and she found Pomone was full 
of nerve. So they worked alone without 
an outcry, until they found the case was 
hopeless. *■ 

“Why, oh why, did you go away?“ said 
Catherine to the other. 


A SURVIVAL 


1 66 

But Pomone swore upon her patron 
saint, that she had only gone to get a 
light, despite the fact that finding Mrs. 
Vanderslyce and Catherine both asleep, 
she had two hours previous, stolen awa)^ 
to bargain with the Duckworth. 

Still, but dimly conscious of what really 
had occurred, Catherine staggered to the 
door, and thence toward the dining-salon, 
where her nostrils told her the meal was 
then in progress. When she reached the 
entrance, she leaned against it for sup- 
port, and though weak, she clearly heard 
Lieutenant Quack, apparently in jest, be- 
gin a letter. 

Now, as the tellers of ancient fairy tales 
were wont to do, those who peruse this 
happening, will of necessity be carried 
back a little. 

At dinner the respondents in addition 
to the host, were Quack, Vanderslyce and 
Mrs. Duckworth. The night had closed 
in dark, with a high sea which obligated 
running under a half head of steam. Mrs. 
Duckworth glanced around, arranging her 
bracelet all the while. 


OF THE FITTEST 167 

“Dear me,” she said, “is it possible I 
represent the ladies?” 

“Most admirably,” said Quack, who ran 
everything he undertook into the ground, 
his latest hobby being flattery to the one 
addressed. The lunacy that actuates a 
punster, in distorting every word that is 
spoken in his presence, was in Quack de- 
veloped to a tension that was maddening. 

‘T remember,” Mrs. Duckworth contin- 
ued, oblivious to the homage of the offi- 
cer, “that while crossing several seasons 
ago on the Britannic^ I was for two days 
the only lady who put in an appearance 
at table. From that I judge the same 
complaint is now affecting Catherine and 
Jerry. ” 

“So far as my wife is concerned,” said 
Vanderslyce, “it is her old familiar friend, 
sick-headache. ” 

It was not until the game was served that 
Lange detected that the assistant waiter 
was doing all the work. He called him 
up. 

“Where’s Larkins?” he asked in a low 


tone. 


A SURVIVAL 


1 68 

The man replied, that all he knew was, " 
that the steward had informed him he 
would have to do the work alone. 

At that moment the captain entered 
and approached them. "We have discov- 
ered, ” he said to Lange, his tone discrete- 
ly low, “that the man Larkins deserted us 
at Charleston. I have found two letters 
in his berth one addressed to you, and one, ’’ 
approaching Vanderslyce, and handing 
him a missive, "for you, sir.” 

Willie took the note and broke the 
seal. Its contents were a blank to him. 

"Well, well," he said, "what a terrible 
scrawl. Here, Quack, see if you can de- 
cipher it." 

The lieutenant, owing to an indiscreet 
and solitary afternoon, was rather gay, but 
still he read aloud the letter, with compar- 
ative ease, which ran : — 

"mister Vanderslice, 

Dear sur: — I rite to sa}- that your wife 
spent last night with mister Lange in his 
rume. miss Dukworth the lady next dore, 
knows it and will prove what I rite if she 
cares to, respect. 

Arthur Larkins. " 


OF THE FITTEST 


169 


How still .it always is before the tem- 
pest. Ever3^body holds their breath in 
awe. “See,” they say, “how silent it is; 
now listen for the uproar.” 

Then again the quietude that goes be- 
fore calamity does not, when it has done 
its work, depart at once. Note two en- 
gines in all the beauty of their iron armor, 
each drawing its cars of human freight. 
The operator, a moment after it is done, 
discovers that he has blundered, and that 
the trains are speeding toward each other, 
on a single track. A little time, and then 
the locomotives are locked in a mad em- 
brace, the wreck behind them mounting, 
crushing, tearing, telescoping its very 
self. And when the jar is over, from the 
human dSris, does there emanate a sound? 
On the contrary, and for a minute, one 
can cut the stillness with a knife. 

So with Willie, who, though the moment 
was supreme, set down his glass unbroken, 
and stared stupidly around, not having 
seemed to comprehend. To be informed 
when one’s mouth is full of canvas-back, 
and rare old Chablis, that one’s supremely 


170 


A SURVIVAL 


trusted and beloved wife, is wanting in 
her faithfulness, is apt to paralyze the 
power of speech. 

Much to his surprise, Lange found him- 
self watching Vandersl 5 ^ce, coolly and with 
interest. His unsigned letter lay before 
him, short but to the point, and he could 
see by comparison across the table, that 
the two were with evidence, done by the 
same fist. 

"may-be you wonder,” it ran, "why I 
tryed to kill you. the reason was the man 
you stole this yaut from, took me off the 
street when I was starvin. he was the 
only frend 1 ever had and when he shot 
his self all on account o’ you, I swor I d’e 
pay you back and now I got my chance, 
when you read this I gess youl’lwish you 
was in hell.” 

“Then this is Larkin’s hell,” thought 
Lange. "Dotard that I was, not to make 
him walk the plank, when we were out at 
sea. He has tied my hands up high and 
dry, for Mrs. Duckworth’s refusal to dis- 
prove this, can be depended on.” 

They sat around the table awe-struck, 
without a word. Then Vanderstyce at last 


OF THE FITTEST 


171 

digested well the letter. He rose, his face 
as livid as iron that is overheated. When 
on his feet he braced himself against his 
chair, and then started for his wife’s apart- 
ment. At the entrance of the dining-room, 
stood Catherine, her face as white as his. 

Since the reading, every word of which 
had burned into her brain, she felt as if 
the ship was crumbling from beneath her 
feet. The revelation made regarding Ger- 
aldine seemed horrible in its surprise. 
That afternoon she had detected in her 
friend, what flashed upon her as symptoms 
of inebriety; but not this, no, not this. 
With telegraphic rapidity her mind went 
back to earlier years and to a time when 
she had fallen ill near unto death and 
Geraldine, a school-friend newly intimate, 
had come and nursed her like a mother, 
back to health’s precincts. How later 
with their brushes, they had studied to- 
gether, under an artist whose passion was 
his work. Blind to all else, he did not 
see how Geraldine pushed the other, to 
her own detriment, insisting that Miss 
Shirley should receive the lion’s share of 


172 A SURVIVAL 

his tuition. Later when her father’s bank- 
ruptcy had made known itself, the sole 
surviving friend was Mrs. Vanderslyce, 
who afterward extended aid so delicately 
put, that Catherine could not suspect it. 
Even at this very hour did she not owe 
her winter’s outing to the one, who now 
to every voice, lay silent? Then again the 
libel of it all ; coming on a woman whose 
lips were stilled and who, though she were 
innocent as air, could not reply. It seemed 
so strange, and yet so true ; for was not 
the fact corroborated, and a witness named? 
It almost had a legal summing up. And 
then besides, the aspect of her burial. A 
name dishonored at its very close, its bear- 
er all unconscious of the appellations that 
would heap themselves about, so long as 
those survived who knew the incident. A* 
husband trusting, almost child-like in his 
faith, would have to face a "memory from 
which a stench arose. 

Against this all, Catherine in a second 
weighed herself and prospects. What mat- 
tered it? A little sacrifice to serve the 
hand, that when in life had shielded her. 


OF THE FITTEST 


173 


and with her benefactress gone it was of 
small account ; for surely this event once 
over with, there could be none succeeding 
of more terribe significance. Then like a 
meteor was born in the girl, a bit of hero- 
ism, which some women under trying cir- 
cumstances will acquire. So as she leaned 
against the entrance, barring out the now 
infuriated Vanderslyce, she came to a 
resolve, and with it went an unalterable 
decision. 

‘T heard that letter,” she said quite 
calmly to the man, ‘‘and it is an unmiti- 
gated lie. It was a case of mistaken iden- 
tity, for I am the guilty one. Your wife 
lies there asleep, as she will always be, 
and you had better go and kiss her lips 
before they are quite cold.” 

The consternation that follows in the 
trail of death, and such announcements, 
was in no wise absent here, and Catherine 
soon found herself the room’s sole occu- 
pant. Then it was that the strain sur- 
mounting her, she sank down and cried 
softly to herself. Later, though she did 


A SURVIVAL 


174 

not raise her head, she knew that Lange 
was standing by her side. 

“I have only come,” he said brokenly, 
"to tell you that your conduct is nothing 
short of noble. I should not have let you 
stain 3^our name had she been alive, and 
able to defend herself. To men as low as 
I, a contact with the devotion that you 
have shown seems like a vision.” 

Still later, she felt Belle Duckworth’s 
arms about her neck. 

‘‘My dear,” that little lady said, ‘‘I want 
the honor of a kiss from you, which I 
shall value as much sis all I have com- 
bined.” And for many months it puzzled 
Mrs. Duckworth to decide if Catherine 
was impelled by honesty, or heroism. 

5K * * :ic 5|c 

In the little darkened state-room, where 
Geraldine stretched stiff and cold, the 
berth wherein she lay, still serving of 
necessity the task of bed and bier, all 
had the stillness that death always carries 
with it. At rare intervals the little dog 
would wheeze, crouched on the floor, his 
sleepiness for pnce completely gone, from 


OF THE FITTEST 


175 


fear of the unusual surroundings. Pomone 
as spick and span as though the day had 
been one of great laxity, occasionally un- 
closed her eyes, and glanced toward the 
corpse to ascertain if it still rested there. 
The event which robs the average French 
woman of her debonair appearance must 
be nothing short of a substantial earth- 
quake. At last she rose, and moved across 
the room to take a better look, the while 
soliloquizing to herself, from force of old 
associations, in her broken English. 

“Ah, yes, ze Madame Vanderslyce was 
quite ze biggest fool imaginable, and now 
ze comedie was done. Did she t’ink she 
was of iron zat she could so burn ze candle 
at both ends? Or did she t’ink she must 
vait for everybody to advise her? Commefit 
tristef She would vait some lime on Po- 
mone, while ze salary was paid promptly. 
Ha! Hal And ze Madame’ s morals were 
verie funny. Like ze little India-rubber 
ball ze children toss about. Dieu! It was 
too bad zat Madame could not be con- 
fessed ; but then zat would have taken 
verie, verie long. Ze Madame Duckworth 


176 


A SC/EVIVAL 


v/ould now want Pomone and being verie 
much like Madame Vanderslyce,ze change 
would not be great. ” And the maid turned 
from her reflections to a bottle laying in 
the steamer trunk, from which she took a 
copious draught, like a horse long in em- 
ployment, who occasionally displays some 
characteristic of his master. 


CHAPTER XI 


It was growing late on this April day, 
and the avenue was crowded with its usual 
number of vehicles. Men were returning 
from business, and women from shopping, 
or a drive in the Park, after the showers 
of the morning. The air was perfect, and 
the shadows deep enough on the fashion- 
able side to keep cool the pedestrians. 
Easter was some weeks past, but the bon- 
nets and gowns still looked their freshest, 
flaunting the novelty of their style, and 
one would have thought from the anima- 
tion every one displayed, that it was the 
happiest time of the calendar. 

Catherine was walking among the throng 
with her head erect, and strides a little 
stiffened, like one whose burden includes a 
grievous wrong, or one in whom imagin- 
ation is playing out a drama. She ap- 
proached a building, grand in architecture, 
12 17P 


178 


A SURVIVAL 


with windows which were placed, and cut 
particularly to enhance the view. Behind, 
a score of heads were ogling at the pass- 
ers-by, and when Catherine had neared the 
place, the}^ viewed the girl with interest un- 
divided. She had passed the building 
many times, but had never deigned to look 
its way before ; to-da}^ however, an im- 
pulse forced her glance in its direction. 
In the eyes pf those behind the glass she 
saw reflected that which made her footsteps 
quicken. She hurried on, with head slightly 
more erect, her mouth pinched in at the cor- 
ners, and with eyes filled with a sensitive 
overflow. The glances had, with one ac- 
cord, been questioning, and she read therein 
the thought that actuated each. She hast- 
ened to her place of boarding, and tearing 
off her gloves, she threw them on the 
dresser, and herself into a chair. 

Fourteen days since her yachting epi- 
sode, with its gruesome termination, and 
Geraldine^s interment, had elapsed, and 
in that short time what had she not learned 
of the world’s contempt and frailty? 
Learned how her uncommitted sin had 


OF THE FITTEST 


179 


been made public property. How gos- 
siping servants, and a United States Army 
officer had, in a "don’t repeat it” fashion 
divulged the matter thoroughly, and at 
large. No one ca^ed whether it was true or 
not, its authenticity, or the motive that 
impelled the act, being details of small 
moment; for all the Nineteenth Century 
wishes is to be amused, no matter at 
whose expense. 

The girl mechanically arranged some 
painting utensils, and sat before her easel 
without mixing her colors. The dim out- 
line of a woman’s face was sketched upon 
the canvas. She had planned a picture 
of pleasure, but the features portrayed suf- 
fering of great mental agony, for uncon- 
sciously Catherine had reflected her own 
thoughts with her brush. The palette 
dropped to the floor, and the girl leaned 
her head upon her arm. 

"Ah, that night,” she thought, "what ter- 
ror it recalled. The end of Geraldine, 
and then the sequel.” As she sat now in 
her little room, each incident was mirrored 
before her eyes. The storm that burst 


i8o 


A SURVIVAL 


upon them an hour subsequent to her dis- 
closure. The boat had rolled and tossed, 
one moment above, the next below the 
water. The crew had worked like demons, 
but for hours it had looked as though this 
trip, would be the Vendome' s\3.st. Toward 
morning Catherine suffocated, had crawled 
to the deck for air. About her were infuri- 
ated waves rolling heavily, but not so 
high, as in the night. The faint and ashy 
dawn showed an ocean boundless, with 
nothing to alter the monotony of gray and 
green, but the white foam crested on the 
billows. The pump was working steadily 
where a leak had sprung, and the captain’s 
orders from his bridge, though hoarse, 
had reached her clearly. Besides him 
lashed in place was Lange, who call him 
what one may, was brave enough to share 
the hardships with his men, who were 
straining every muscle to preserve his craft. 
In the dim light Catherine had looked at 
him, and with that look, despite the re- 
velations of the night, and of his infamy, 
despite all that she could conjure up 
against him, went her conviction that her 


OF THE FITTEST 


i8i 

heart was his. The secret confession gave 
her no joy, no happy blushes, no girlish 
shame; if possible, it added to the dull 
and leadened suffering that the night had 
brought her. Later, when through staunch- 
ness of the boat, they reached their port 
in safety, she bore on land a note from 
him. In it he gave his address which 
would recall him, so he said, from any 
quarter of the globe, and at any time she 
deemed it within the bounds of her con- 
sideration. 

Was her sacrifice for the best? She 
often asked herself the question. The 
answer to the contrar}^- was thrown in her 
face each day, a thousandfold each time. 
Then again, perhaps her poverty would 
later have brought something similar to 
her door, for humanity seldom holds a girl, 
in straightened circumstances, long above 
suspicion, and she had at least the satis- 
faction of knowing she had repayed a 
debt, if in a posthumous fashion. Live, 
be happy, drink of pleasure to the depths, 
and it will be but innocent amusement be 
it never known, but sin if traced was, in 


i 82 


A SURVIVAL 


logic of her former friends, like a blotted 
sheet of paper. 

On her arrival from the South, she had 
experienced a ray of hope. She found her 
picture -was still detained, and not returned, 
as she had feared, and she felt her chances 
were encouraging for getting her effort in 
the Spring Exhibit. The next day’s express 
brought back the object of her toil. It was 
returned with a brief, unexplainable note 
from the secretary, which was in tone like 
printed forms, with blanks left vacant to 
be filled. She learned that acceptance in 
most cases of this sort, was due to high 
influence, and not to the merit of the work 
itself, with virtue more in the name, than 
in the execution. She had reached the 
stage in an artist’s life, where all the 
mockery of a so-called civilization could 
be viewed through crystals of double lens- 
es. Some days after she had the picture 
sent to a dealer, who had formerl}?' solic- 
ited her work, and later she called for his 
verdict. 

‘‘Ah,’' he smiled, and extended his hand, 
“Miss Shirley I believe. Delighted, de- 


OF THE FITTEST 


183 

lighted to see you,” and he eyed her in- 
quisitively. 

When, however, she hastened to ask of 
her effort, the philanthropic and benevo- 
lent old gentleman, who on Sabbath-day 
in his church duties collected alms, put 
on a guarded exterior. No, he couldn’t 
take it, very sorry indeed, of course he 
was ; but in truth, and to speak plainly, 
the thing had no merit, and was not sale- 
able at all. His customers preferred a 
different style, yes. quite different. 

By well managed questionings he learned 
that the picture had before met with re- 
fusal, and it pleased his sense of intuition 
to hear what he had suspected confirmed 
by the girl herself. 

And so the discouraging result had re- 
peated itself. At every place to which 
she sent her work she found that rumor 
and report had already given her name a 
coloring. The girl was far too keen not 
to suspect why she had met with constantly 
recurring failure, and coupled with it, re- 
ceptions from the men which had a slight 
familiarity. Brave at heart, however, she 


184 


A SUJ^VIVAL 


persevered, and made in several instances 
application as a governess. Being well 
known, and perhaps from that very reason 
she failed signally in this direction. Had 
she possessed references unlimited they 
would have in all probability availed her 
little. For it had transpired by this time 
that the accident which had befallen her 
was talked of secretly by all with whom 
she came in contact. It was a romance, 
people said, a romance with a dirty ter- 
mination. At last despairing, she applied 
at an establishment where portraits by a 
process were reproduced in crayon. Some- 
what to her surprise, she secured the place 
at a small recompense which, however, 
promised something better. In three days 
the head of her department called her to 
his office. He was a man well on in years 
and of a kindly disposition. 

“Ahem, Miss Shirley,” he said, “I very 
much regret to state that we will not 
after to-day require your services. If you 
will apply to the cashier he will pay you 
what is due.” 

Tears welled in Catherine’s eyes. “And 


OF THE FITTEST 


185 


why,” she faltered, "am I dismissed? I 
have tried, indeed, to do my best. Kindly 
reconsider your decision as 1 need the 
situation badly." 

The man wheeled nervously in his chair. 

"My dear young lady,” he said, “you 
have done very satisfactorily I will admit. 
But, ahem, the fact is that, er — well, to 
deal frankly by you, as perhaps you know, 
there is considerable talk current, regard- 
ing a matter in your private life. The 
young women in your department — I must 
say a rather supercilious lot — object, until 
you have satisfactorily cleared up these 
facts, to your presence there ; and, of course, 
in cases of this kind we have to comply 
with any just demand. I trust I have not 
wounded you?” He tried to speak as 
gently as he could. Sorrowfully Cather- 
ine thanked him and went away. Her 
heart was bleeding from the way it daily 
was laid bare. 

Therefore, on this spring night in her 
room, after a day like all the others spent 
in fruitless searching, she felt the lines of 
despair like a yoke about her neck. The 


A SURVIVAL 


1 86 

incident of the club-window that afternoon 
had sunk deep into her. It showed that 
the foundation which she stood on was sus- 
piciously of sand, indeed. No one knew 
better what the glances of the men inter- 
preted, or the utter hopelessness of trying 
to combat the stigma. Another source of 
terrible concern was that her monetary 
supply was on the ebb. She saw her way 
to the maintenance of her present quarters ' 
but a few days more, as owing to extrava- 
gance of disposition, coin of the realm 
never stayed in her possession long. Her 
former earnings, it seemed to her, had 
taken wings and flown. 

In this condition, and in no hopeful 
frame of mind, she leaned her head against 
the glass and gazed up at the stars. On 
April nights the sky is at its best, and on 
this occasion it was studded with a myriad 
of gems that shown as though a rivalr}^ 
was then in progress for the leadership in 
brilliancy. The girl amused herself by 
starting in to count them, and then her 
eyes wandering to the street below, she 
watched the occasional pedestrian. She 


OF THE FITTEST 


187 


found herself with all endeavoring to 
guess their little life, taking as a basis a 
glimpse of their appearance as they passed 
a neighboring street-lamp. About them 
she would weave absurd trivialities, and 
when they passed in couples she would 
wonder what relationship they bore. 

All at once into her brain there crept 
an idea, which she partly carried into 
effect without consideration. Going to a 
drawer she found a phial labeled “Laud- 
anum.” Taking it to the light, she exam- 
ined it with care, turning the bottle in 
both directions and watching the flow of 
the liquid back and forth. Without hes- 
itation she poured a teaspoonful into a 
little water, and then half held it to her 
mouth, but put it down without tasting. 
Seating herself,she ran her fingers through 
her hair. 

“My position now is desperate,” thought 
the girl. “Turn which way I will, I see 
no loop-hole for improvement, or escape. 
The stain I bear precludes me from ob- 
taining work, and when the matter shall 
have blown over, and people are supplied 


i88 


A SURVIVAL 


with something new to talk of, my poor 
existence will have burned itself complete- 
ly out. My funds are low and I can see 
but one way to replenish them. I prefer 
the laudanum to that way. ” 

She mused awhile on what was, had been, 
and what the future held. Her mind went 
back to that February night at Saint Ger- 
vaise, when she stood and watched the 
sun's departing rays. How happy she 
was then, and now how different everything 
appeared. She weighed the matter calmly, 
giving due consideration to each phase 
and attitude. She thought of the picture- 
dealer, resplendent in his orthodox}^ and 
of the manner in which he had reminded 
her of her rnisfortune. She smiled. A 
charming religion, indeed, poetic in its 
charity. And then the death she contem- 
plated. What did it represent? A little 
twinge of pain, perhaps, and then oblivion. 
Certainly a restful prospect, and one to 
those of lazy temperament, of much allure- 
ment. 

"Well,” she thought, mechanically un- 
dressing, watching meanwhile the drug 


OF THE FITTEST 


189 

discoloring the water, “with not a relative, 
or friend in all the world, my sudden tak- 
ing off will cause small grief. ” 

Going around the room she deftly placed 
in order her effects, destroying some mem- 
oranda, correspondence, and the like. Then 
rather impatient at the delay, Catherine 
seized the glass and made as though to 
drink its contents. Half way to her lips 
she paused, and to her came that love of 
life, that “hope which springs eternal in 
the human breast.” She wavered a mo- 
ment, and then as though in terror of her- 
self, she threw away the potion, still un- 
tasted. 

Many lives approach this ending. Some, 
however, turn aside, when only a few sec 
onds separate them from a solution of the 
greatest mystery with which mankind is 
brought to face. 

The impulse of destruction had left the 
girl as quickly as it had come, and deny- 
ing her mind another thought of it, she 
extinguished the light and sought her 
couch. 


CHAPTER XII 


Catherine awoke next morning with a 
mind more clear, and filled with thoughts 
less gloomy. It is natural for the young 
and healthful, with nature clad in spring’s 
regalia and the sun streaming in their 
room to view matters with exuberance, 
which on the night before filled them with 
forebodings. Miss Shirley took her bath, 
and after breakfasting, a long brisk walk, 
returning with a little bunch of violets pur- 
chased at a wayside flower-stand. She had 
once more her courage well in hand, and 
with it a determination to surmount her 
difficulties. 

She found a visitor awaiting her of no 
less importance than her landlady, Mrs. 
Forrester. The latter was a woman of the 
type that has grown famous in the main- 
tenance of boarding houses. Rather well 

190 


OF THE FITTEST 


191 


preserved, though stout, she had dark eyes, 
and hair some little streaked. As natural 
to infer with such an occupation, she was 
a widow. In an auto biographical way, 
she always sketched to those ignorant of 
the facts, that she was of purely Southern 
extraction, and that her social standing 
prior to the war had been one of great prom- 
inence. It was very hard, indeed, reared 
as she was, to find herself thus situated, 
and so on. The tale is not in need of 
repetition. It is rehearsed on every thor- 
ough-fare that runs aslant the avenues from 
Gramercy Park to Harlem. 

Catherine removed her hat. “Good 
morning, Mrs. Forrester,” she said, and 
somehow all the joyousness that a spring 
day had brought her vanished. Her caller 
acknowledged the salutation, and then the 
conversation lagged.' The woman fidgeted 
about so nervously, that Catherine at last 
becoming tired of it, asked her the motive 
whereby she was honored with this visit. 

“I am not at all fond,” at length said 
Mrs. Forester, “of dealing with disagree- 


192 


A SURVIVAL 


able subjects, and I hope, Miss Shirley, 
that what I say will not be misconstrued 
by you?” 

Catherine assured her of attention that 
could be unbiased. 

"Well, then,” ^continued the other, ‘‘I 
am not myself addicted much to gossip, 
nor am I at all affected by what is merely 
hearsay, but a story touching on your visit 
South is now talked of so much, that a 
number of my boarders have become con- 
versant with its details. It may be una- 
dulterated libel on which point you, of 
course, are best informed.” She paused 
with a deprecating gesture, leaving a blank 
the young woman did not fill. 

Catherine was to look at very lovely, 
and to do the elder woman justice, she 
spoke as gently as she could. A South- 
ern heart is always warm, and never blind 
to facial attraction. 

“In view of this,” Mrs. Forrester went 
on, “and the fact that my other tenants 
have entered a complaint,! must, of course, 
to guard myself either ask you to explain. 


OF THE FITTEST 


193 


or else vacate this room after the present 
week. ’’ 

What could Catherine say or do? She 
was completely bound and gagged, as much 
so, as though her tongue was tied. She 
let her interlocutor depart without a word, 
which the other woman’s intuition did not 
fail to properly construe. At last she felt 
she was legitimately beaten, and that a 
cloud of smoke was no more undetainable, 
than she in the course her destiny had 
marked. 

Packing her trunks she left the house, 
and registered at a hotel in the vicinity; 
after which she telegraphed a line to 
Lange’s address. Twenty-four hours later 
he appeared, his eyes radiant, yet remorse^ 
ful. They called a cab, and reaching the 
station he secured a compartment, private 
to themselves, on a train that minute leav- 
ing. After they were ushered in, he closed 
the door and together and in silence they 
watched the flying landscape. At last he 
leaned forward, and taking her hand kissed 
it very gently. She had awakened within 
him the grande passion of his life. 


II 


194 


A SURVIVAL 


"The boat," he said, "is at New London, 
and is coaled for Europe.” 

Hs * * * * * 

On matinee days Mrs. Duckworth drives 
down to the Brunswick in a faultless lit- 
tle brougham, the appendages of which 
are a florid-visaged coachman, and a "tiger" 
of diminutive proportions. Presently, and 
on one of these occasions, Edith Staple- 
ton walks in, and Mrs. Duckworth calls 
her, and they have their lunch together. 

At length Bell says, replying to a ques- 
tion of the other: "Did I ever know Miss 
Shirley? Yes, indeed. A lovely girl, the 
sweetest without question that I ever met, 
and one by far more sinned against than 
sinning. It is quite too bad. Of course, 
one can’t acknowledge her in a position 
so, er — impossible, you know. Ahem! 
Have you seen the orchids Klunder has? 
No? They simply are enchanting. By- 
the-by, Mrs. Porte-Chester, who returned 
Wednesday on the Rome, says she thinks 
her son most admirably wedded. The 
happy pair are, I believe, now in Naples. I 


OF THE FITTEST 


195 


have an invitation for the meet next week 
on Thornton’s coach. ’’ Then to the waiter, 
“Another pdie, if you please,” and to her 
friend, “My dear, your hat is charming.” 













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